The Jewel of the Empire
by Bianca Castafarina
Summary: SLASH. Tintin/Haddock, Ancient Rome AU. - Tintin, a Patrician youth from a noble house, is being given a Scottish slave as a present, and falls in love with him. But they have to keep their union a secret; and on top of that, Emperor Nero has noticed Tintin and develops an infatuation with him. Now WARNING for non-con
1. Chapter 1

The Jewel of the Empire

**Chapter I**

Rome  
March 17, A.D. 64

Martinus Augustinus Remius, nicknamed Tintin, was in many ways an unusual youth. Not only did his red hair (which on the front stood out in a curious tuft) cause many a tactless fellow to rumour about the fatherhood of Senator Gaius Remius, but also his slight build and fine features made people take notice. But as it was whispered among his peers the boy was not to be underestimated: Every time Tintin had been harrassed by a bully he'd shown the rude kid what he was made of. And his little white dog, named Milon after the mythical hero Milon of Croton, was always happy to help him fight. Once he'd even defended himself against an armed robber who had dared attacking him a dark side alley of the _subura_. No, Tintin was one not to be messed with; but one would never guess so from his angelic looks and gentle, polite demeanour. He was a Patrician through and through, the pride and jewel of his father.

Gaius Prospero Remius was a silver-haired, old-school, conservative Senate member who did not support the direction the current government - no, the whole Empire! - was taking. Secretly he longed for the return of the old days of the Republic. Theatre plays and games were dumbing down and becoming bloodier, more brutal than ever. Everywhere one could now find cheap, amoral pastimes that put the simple Plebeian mind in a dangerous state of pleasure-seeking and rebellion. Roman youth was becoming arrogant, decadent, sluggish and defiant; their minds driven by base instincts and fleeting fancies; and the embodiment of all decline was the current Emperor Nero, a naive youth from a broken family with a history of incest and murder.  
Considering the worrying state of the world it was especially important to Senator Gaius Prospero of the Remii that his son Tintin would not turn into one of those effeminate, corrupted modern men; but become a shining example of authentic Roman virtue. And so far this had been a splendid success. Only in marrying Tintin had shown no interest so far, but Gaius was certain that this, too, would happen in time.

It was disconcerting enough that Tintin (his nickname being one of the scarce signs of fatherly affection that Gaius permitted himself to show) had taken so long to physically grow up. Though blessed with a sharp mind and wiseness beyond his years Tintin looked much younger than nineteen. But the _liberalia_, the traditional coming-of-age celebrations, could not be delayed any longer. They would be held this March, with dozens of family members and friends from near and far attending, with expensive imported food and copious amounts of the finest wine from Italy and Gaul.

And then Tintin would dedicate his childhood clothes to the house gods and officially start wearing the white _toga virilis_ which would make visible for all his new status as a citizen of Rome. Then he'd accompany Tintin to the citizen's office, the _tabularium_, to have him registered as such.

In the kitchen of the Senator's town villa, the former slave - now a freedwoman - Blanca Castafloris was preparing food for the festivities, including a whole stuffed pig to be roasted over the fire.  
She had been part of the family for almost twenty years. When Tintin's mother, Iulia Domitilla of the Livii, had succumbed to the complications of childbirth, Gaius had bought Blanca as a wet-nurse for his newborn son, and since then she had raised Tintin like her own child. So important a part of the family Blanca became that even when she was given liberty she chose to stay as a housekeeper. Together with Gaius' slave Nestoros she made sure that the villa kept order, discipline and routine.

The Senator had never lavished great gifts nor too much love upon his only son, fearing he might spoil him. The little dog, Milon, was one of the few major gifts Tintin had received. Still too often the lad reminded him of poor Iulia Domitilla. He had the same golden-red hair as her, and sometimes wretched thoughts invaded Gaius' mind, such as the idea that he might not be a widower if it were not for Tintin. He hated to admit it to himself but sometimes he resented him and then Iulia's ghost called out to him, admonishing him to guard the boy to whom she had sacrificed her life.

Now on his special day, now that he was finally an adult, one could allow an indulgence: Tintin would receive a special gift - a slave of his own. Gaius had spent over two hundred _denarii_ on one of the finest specimens he'd been able to find on the market.

.

.

.

The _liberalia_ were over.

Three days of celebrating with meeting hitherto unknown relatives and stuffing himself with exotic foods had left Tintin physically and mentally exhausted. Aunts, uncles and cousins he'd never before met, as well as practically half the Senate, had been crowding the villa. But now, finally, Tintin could take off his new toga which was awkward to walk in and constantly threatened to fall down or trip him.

When he had made an offering at the small shrine in the niche near his bedroom, saying a prayer to the small wooden statuettes of the _lari_, he had thought of his mother whom he'd never known. The only artwork in the entire villa (unlike his fellow senators Gaius did not collect art) was a portrait of his mother, standing on the house altar. Iulia Domitilla Livia's likeness had been painted with encaustic wax on a wooden panel, and her hair was as golden-red as his. He also knew she was the reason for the aura of sadness that frequently overcame his father, and Gaius had always reminded him that "she died for you, to bring you into this world."

His father approached him this evening. "Martinus Augustinus, I have a special gift for you."

Tintin's ears perked up, and he looked at Gaius with great curiosity.

Gaius looked proud, a wide smile on his nobleman-style shaven, wrinkled face. Then he called Blanca and told her, "Bring him in!"

And the stranger entered the room.

The moment Tintin saw him he felt his cheeks heat up and his eyes widen. Judging from the short tunic he wore that man was a slave - but _what_ a slave! Even taller than Gaius and built like a gladiator he had wiry dark hair covering his bare arms and legs, and his beard was as jet black as the full hair on his head. From beneath long, dark lashes two intensely blue eyes were regarding Tintin with utmost interest.

Tintin's gaze wandered down to catch a glimpse of the rounded bulge between the man's legs, more accentuated than hidden by the thin fabric of the tunic.

"He's all yours!" Gaius exclaimed with joy. "Now you've got your own slave! Isn't he a fine one?" He poked the stranger's biceps, beaming with pride as though he'd just bought an first-rate breeding stallion. "Strong and sturdy! What do you say, my son?"

Tintin had to sit down.

This was not just any slave but one of the most attractive men he'd ever seen - then a sudden fear crept upon him: did his father possibly _know?_ Could he know?

An utter weakness for men, especially for this type of man, was Tintin's best kept secret. Was Gaius possibly suspecting...? No, no, his father seemed genuinely pleased and absolutely clueless.

"I don't know what to say, Father," he finally managed. It was quite true - at this point he only wanted to look. "That is, um... quite unexpected. Yes, you're right. He does look... very fine, indeed."

More than fine.

Oh, if Gaius only knew! This slave's Jove-worthy masculine looks might seem intimidating to other men and young maidens, but it was the exact type of man whom Tintin always stealthily ogled when visiting the bath-house, hoping to catch a glimpse of their nakedness, wondering how deep their voices were, and if they actually would fancy a boyish, nubile young man as him. They had populated his fantasies since he'd been fifteen, and he had long been ashamed of those thoughts and desires, trying to suppress them. Only after reading certain books and careful discussing with select teachers and friends he learnt he wasn't the only one with that orientation; that others had read, written, heard and even experienced "the other love" as well.

Still he knew that his father would be furious if he found out. Senator Gaius set high hopes in eventually seeing Tintin marry a young lady from a good house. "The other love", as he had made clear a few times, was unnatural and decadent, and the effeminate dogs who pursued it should be expelled from their family, and disinherited.

If Gaius ever discovered his son's secret Tintin's entire existence would be stain, a shameful disgrace on the noble and ancient name of the Remii.

So Tintin just looked and nodded, keeping a serious blank face. "So... what's his name?"

"I speak Latin, boy", the man responded. His voice was deep and with a strange, husky accent that sent a pleasant shiver down Tintin's spine.  
It had been inappropiately casual but Tintin was too fascinated to notice. Only when Gaius glared at him the slave said, "I beg your pardon, _domine_. Never served a child before. My name is Arcibal Hadoc, and I'm from Caledonia."

"I'm not a child", Tintin said. "I'm nineteen." He knew he should scold him - Arcibal was his possession now, his servant! - but he didn't want to, couldn't. He was fighting the desire to touch him, to feel Arcibal's strong biceps as his father had just done. He stepped closer, as though to inspect the slave a little more. "Arcibalus?"

"Just Arcibal."

"What an exotic name." Tintin smiled. He couldn't help it - he was fascinated, had to stare.

There were small wrinkles in the corners of Arcibal Hadoc's eyes when he smiled back, his blue eyes gazing deeply into Tintin's. "Pleased to be at your service, _domine _Tintin_._"

.

.

.

While Blanca Castafloris showed Arcibal the villa and the small chamber he'd share with Nestoros, and made him familiar with the everyday routine of the Remii, Tintin retreated to his own bedroom.

His little white dog, Milon, sat on the floor giving him confused looks while Tintin tried to figure out what on earth was happening to him. He paced around the room restlessly, his mind in a mess. He was suddenly the luckiest, happiest boy on Earth! The most amazing, marvelous present had been given to him - and yet it scared him. He sat down on the bed, hand on chest, inhaling deeply. By Jove and Venus and a million blazing barbarians!  
He stood up, again walking through the room without a goal. "Oh Milon", he mumbled, "can you imagine - it's strange, I suddenly feel so anxious, so... unprepared."

"Woof?" Milon replied.

Tintin hugged himself as though to somehow tame the restless, passionate sensation inside him. But it burnt, fiery and impatient, and when he reached down to his groin he wondered if this might calm him. Hiding behind the bed curtains so Milon wouldn't watch Tintin tended to himself, the image of Arcibal Hadoc bright and clear in his mind.

.

.

.

There was still food left over from the celebration so Tintin had obtained his father's permission to share it with Arcibal so nothing would go to waste. They sat on the upholstered reclining chairs in the diningroom and helped themselves to the leftovers.

There were roasted quails with rosemary and sage, cold cuts of roast pork, anchovy-stuffed artichokes in herb-scented olive oil, pureed celery with spices, a ragout of chicken livers and mushrooms in a dark spiced _garum_ sauce, various whole grilled fish, some not-so-fresh fruit, and assorted sweet breads and honey-and-nut filled pastries made from superior white flour.

Eating heartily, Arcibal told him about his country. Caledonia, he said, was a forest-covered, uncivilized land north of Brittannia, "where people are everything you imagine when someone tells you of barbarians." They were wild, blood-thirsty warriors with long hair, long beards, tattoos and painted faces, of whom none knew how to read and write, "but every boy learns to swim, outrun wolves and slay wild boars by the time he is ten." The Romans knew them by the name of Picts.

He had been the chieftain of the Hadoc tribe but when they went down to Brittannia in search of new land they were attacked by Roman soldiers who captured them, and Arcibal was sold into slavery. He'd been exported to Greece to become the house watchman and personal bodyguard of a rich merchant named Rastapopoulos. This had been more than ten years ago, and Arcibal had long given up hope to ever see his wife and children again.

"How horrible," Tintin said quietly. "Your entire family... I can't imagine..." How had Arcibal managed? How did anyone cope with such a loss?  
But the way he spoke, with perfect command of the Latin language and elegant sentences that stood in contrast to his rugged Barbarian exterior, made Tintin want to hear more. He had probably received a good education in Greece.

"Well, I did my best to be the best servant they ever had, hoping they'd set me free. They never did. Now it's probably too late. How could I possibly find my family? They've probably surrendered to their fate and long forgotten me."

Touched by the sadness in Arcibal's eyes yet impressed by the apparent nonchalance with which he told him this, Tintin reached out to put his own hand atop his slave's. "Arcibal", he said, "I promise I shall be a good master to you and never mistreat you. I want you to be part of my family."

Arcibal smiled warmly and thanked him. "_Gratias ago, domine._"

Tintin nodded. It felt strange to be addressed that way, a man twice his age treating him as his superior. He removed his hand which was getting clammy, wiping it on his new toga. It was wrong, yes, but he desperately wanted to remove the limit, tear down the wall of status between them. "Let's drop the formal speech, shall we?"

Again, a mistake. One didn't just suggest things to their slaves. They needed commands, firm orders. Every child in Rome knew that, and Gaius would scold him for it, but at present Tintin did not care.

"That's fine by me." Arcibal was still smiling. "'Tintin' it is, then?"

"Yes." Tintin's cheeks warmed and he looked down.

to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

March 19th, A.D. 64

Until now it had always been his father's slave Nestoros who had accompanied Tintin on his way to the orator academy where privileged sons of noble families refined the education they had already received from their private tutors, but now Arcibal Hadoc went with him. It was not a long way to walk but a dangerous one since each time he had to pass through the _subura_, one of Rome's dirtiest, darkest and most crime-infected districts. High insulae with wooden floors haphazardly stacked upon each other provided cheap housing of dry, flammable material for the poor masses. From the balconies people frequently threw all sorts of refuse, and cleanup was inefficient so the roads reeked.

Tintin hurried through the crowded alley, Arcibal Hadoc following him closely and carrying Tintin's writing materials. Having a strong and able bodyguard was no guarantee of safety but would at least deter some muggers of which here were many. Even in broad daylight the_ subura_ was an unsavory place where the authorities had long given up on keeping crime in check, so now the streets were controlled by rivaling violent gangs to whom shopowners had to pay a protection tax.

After academy classes Arcibal picked Tintin up, and they had lunch in one of the many fast-food shops lining the inner city streets, eating chicken and herb filled bread rolls.

On their way home Tintin asked his slave, "Have you ever been to a bathhouse?"

"I've gone there with my former master a few times."

"Let's go." Tintin hooked his arm into Arcibal's. "The baths in Rome are splendid. You'll love them."

.

.

.

All over Rome many impressive_ thermae_ had been built under the current Emperor Nero. It was rumoured that he liked to visit them incognito together with friends but Tintin knew that it was no rumour.

Often when Tintin went to the bathhouse together with his father, men had ogled him, sometimes even approached him, but every time Gaius had chased away the impudent strangers, sometimes much to Tintin's secret disappointment.

Yet at one time his father had done nothing.

Back then Tintin had been only fifteen, still nervous and uneasy around the curious men; and a strange young man, short and blonde-haired, had blatantly flirted with him. Tintin, still too young to handle the situation had been confused; and only when the stranger had gone as far as touching him Tintin had resisted. The molester had finally understood then, and left him alone.  
Seconds later Tintin's father had come running toward him, and dragged him out of the bathhouse. He explained why he hadn't been able to intervene. "That was the Emperor! The Emperor Nero! Don't speak a word of this to anyone, do you hear me? And we won't ever set a foot into this bath again!"

That had been about four years ago and Tintin hadn't seen the Emperor again ever since.

Tintin and Arcibal stood in the large tiled pool of the _Therma Sabinae_, named after the Emperor's wife. It was a large water pool heated by an ingenious oven system underneath the floor - everyone had to wear wooden sandals so their feet would not get scorched. There were few other guests so Tintin used every second to unconspicuously look at Arcibal's well-proportioned, strong build.

He had now seen him naked, and his suspicions about Northern barbarians had been confirmed.

Like a true savage Arcibal was well endowed, rather large even when flaccid, and Tintin had caught himself staring.

It was not love. He wasn't a naive teenager anymore and too smart to confuse things. What he felt was plain lust; the same sort of attraction he'd felt for men in general for quite some time now. _Oh Father,_ Tintin thought wryly_, if you only knew what kind of gift you've given me!_

Only to Milon he could entrust such secrets. The dog was sleeping peacefully in a corner behind one of the tall stone pillars that held the construction together. It was a beautiful bathhouse. Gentle sunlight fell through small windows far above in the mural-decorated walls, creating sparkles on the clear, warm water surface.

Tintin was sitting on the edge of the pool, taking a break, watching his slave from a distance. To his amazement the man could swim fast and agile like the divine _Neptunus_ himself.

Tintin put a hand on his chest, breathing deeply in and out. He couldn't deny it – Arcibal was exciting him, making his heart race. He continued to watch.

A voice dragged him out of his reveries. „_Salve_, lad. That your lover?"

He looked up at two men standing behind him. Both were not much older than him, probably in their mid- to late twenties. One of them looked eeriely familiar.

„I'm Titus", the shorter one introduced himself with a lopsided grin. He was as short as Tintin and had a towel wrapped around his chubby waist. Blonde hair fell over his ears, and Tintin recognized him.

_By Jove on a beanstalk!_

It was Emperor Nero.

Tintin stared at him, speechless for a moment, then remembered that Nero counted on not being recognized by anyone, and knew he had to play along. So he smiled awkwardly. „Um, no. He's not my lover, just my slave."

„What a fine man", Nero said, observing Arcibal swimming in the pool. „You are a lucky lad, for sure." He sat down next to Tintin's right, causing the towel to almost slip off, and turned to his friend who sat down at Tintin's left side. „What do you think, Petronius?"

The other man looked at Arcibal, then at Tintin thoughtfully until he declared, „I prefer younger beauties." His face was close to Tintin's, too close, and he studied the lad's features with an earnestness that made Tintin uncomfortable.

Nero laughed, slapping his friend on the back. „That's why they call you 'arbiter of beauty'!" To Tintin he said, „Petronius is a writer. Have you read his 'Satyricon'?"

Indeed Tintin had, but he did not reply. Petronius' intense stare was too distracting. Quickly he stood up. „Excuse me, gentlemen, but I really have to use the _latrina_ right now." Nevermind that the toilets were a public place for socialising – surely they would get the hint.

Petronius grinned broadly, standing up as well. „We're going with you!"

„_Petronius!_" Nero gave him a scolding glare.

„Oh..." The author looked disappointed. Then – again! - he let his gaze wander over Tintin's body. Despite the towel Tintin had rarely felt so naked before, so vulnerable. „Well, lad", Petronius said appreciatively, „I've rarely seen such beautiful light skin before. And those freckles... Do you have them anywhere else too? Actually, would you mind removing that towel? I'd like to see your behind."

Tintin blushed and stared at him, mouth agape. That debauchee was even more daring than his writings! „Certainly not!" he said, head high with Patrician pride, and turned around to leave.

„Wait!" A sausage-fingered hand on his shoulder held him back. It was the Emperor, and he said, „Come on, boy, is that too much to ask? A look is all he wants, nothing more. Do him the favor."

Petronius chuckled, reaching for the towel around Tintin's hips, and Tintin held it more firmly, evading the man's hand. It was a displeasing situation, and usually he would have punched one of those scallywags by now, but this wasn't just anyone. This was the Emperor himself and his friend!

„Blistering barnacles", Arcibal's voice bellowed. Tintin turned around and there he was, just out of the water, approaching them. He walked toward them in his full naked glory, glistening wet and dripping with scented water from the pool, his limp but large cock moving with each determined stride.

He was taller and stronger than all of them, and the way he stood before them, towering over the suddenly rather unimpressive looking figures of the Emperor and his friend, sent a pleasant shiver down Tintin's arms.

„What's happening here? Tintin, are they molesting you?"

„I-" Tintin began, but Arcibal did not wait for an answer. He grabbed Petronius, dragging him away from Tintin while barking, „This boy is taboo! Got it? Got it, you freshwater sea-gherkin?"

„How dare you, slave!" Nero shouted and lifted a hand as though to hit Arcibal.

Tintin set on to say something, but Arcibal was faster. With one deft shove, he pushed the chubby Emperor backward into the pool, resulting in a loud splash.

„No", Tintin shouted.

Emperor Nero flailed his arms like a young bird, screaming and gasping for breath, wildly paddling and slapping through the water until he finally found the floor to stand on – a hot, _very_ hot floor, whereupon he emitted a high-pitched cry of pain. Moments later he had found the pool's edge, and Petronius dragged him out.

It looked rather comical how Petronius pulled this chubby cat of a statesman out of the pool with all his strength of which he did not have much. When he finally had managed to get Nero out, the latter was still holding onto his soaked towel, face contorted with pain. He was fuming, pointing one trembling finger at Arcibal. „You insolent rascal, you will pay for this! You won't get away with this!"

„I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Tintin tried to calm him, barely holding back the 'Majesty' address. „My slave is brash at times, and doesn't know the limits yet. I will punish him! Please forgive us!"

„You better do, and it better be thirty whiplashes", Nero snarled.

Finally they both left.

Tintin wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It had been utterly comical watching the Emperor of all people drop into the water like a sack of grain. And how unimpressive, rather _human_ he had looked with his flabby, prematurely aged stature! Not divine as the Emperors – especially this one - liked to portray themselves. But on the other hand it was not funny. If Nero knew who they were there could be consequences. Tintin prayed he would never find out their identities.

Both Nero and Petronius were now out of sight, and Tintin gripped Arcibal's shoulders. „Do you know what you just did? That was the Emperor! You just shoved the Emperor into the water!"

There was just a fleeting shadow of shock on Arcibal's face but it quickly turned into defiance. „I don't care if it was Emperor Nero or Catus the butcher", he growled. „That dim-witted ostrogoth molested you, and I did my duty!" He stood close in front of Tintin now, so close that Tintin could see single wet hairs on the man's chest and a challenging gleam in his eyes. He put his hands on Tintin's shoulders so they were holding onto each other now, and Tintin felt his face heat up with excitement.

„It's my duty to protect you." Arcibal's voice became gentler.

„I know. I shan't punish you, of course."

„You're a very reasonable master."

Tintin smiled happily. It was a strange, thrilling and at the same time comforting sensation to have that man at his side, strong and solid like a rock. He knew he couldn't fully trust him yet – a slave had to earn his trust, every child knew that! - but right now all he wanted was to rely completely on this strange, amazing Barbarian.

Then his smile widened into an amused grin. „Did you see their faces?" He giggled, looking at Arcibal. „By Jove, their faces!" He broke into laughter.

„Yes! Hahaha!" Arcibal's laughter resembled a roar, and soon they were hugging each other, guffawing like crafty schoolboys who had just performed the most sublime prank. Tintin realized how close their bodies suddenly were, _too_ close, and he hastily retreated from his slave's arms, his laughter ending in an embarassed giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

March 26th, A.D. 64

Time spent with his slave – or more precisely, time he found an excuse for Arcibal to be with him, avoiding Gaius' watchful eye as often as possible – had seemed to Tintin like the exact thing he needed.

But it did nothing to ease his restlessness, to calm the ache in his chest and stomach and further below. It was not enough; it was never enough. He wanted more of Arcibal Hadoc, and often wondered if the slave might want the same. But if he did he never showed it to Tintin. No hungry gaze met Tintin's own longing looks, no casual touch brushed over Tintin's skin. Arcibal Hadoc was either supremely skilled at keeping his desires hidden, or he absolutely did not care about the love of a mere youth, a „child" in his own worths. And it saddened Tintin that the latter was the more realistic possibility.

But who knew what a slave was really thinking? It was a harsh life without freedom and rights even in the house of the most compassionate slavekeeper. What reason did Arcibal have to truly like a spoilt Patrician youth from a nation that regarded itself the master and commander of the entire world, greedily expanding throughout Europe? Rome had ruined Arcibal and his family. What if Arcibal actually _hated_ him?

Tintin was alone in his room, caressing Milon.

Sure, he had the right to do anything he pleased with his servant. He could use him for sexual favors, and it wouldn't even be illegal (although his father would frown upon it). People had intercourse with their slaves all the time. But Tintin knew there was a subtle but important difference. What he wanted from Arcibal was something society would not let him have. To take, seduce or force a slave, to make him or her the recipient of the master's desires, was the only way such an union was generally deemed acceptable.

„I'm scared to take what I want", Tintin muttered.

„Woof", Milou responded.

„Maybe it's because I'm a virgin. I've just never done it before."

Master or not, he wouldn't, simply couldn't force himself upon Arcibal, and it wasn't just because of his shameful inexperience and resulting fear, but also because he'd never be able to digest any sign of rejection or lack of consent from this man. It would simply hurt too much.

No, truth to be told, he wanted it the other way around, the _wrong_ way. He wanted Arcibal to make the first step, to give in to inappropiate desires he had for Tintin, and to touch and kiss him. He wanted to be introduced by Arcibal to the pleasures of the „Greek Way", to be guided and initiated.

It was a fantasy he had dreamed many times already, and he let his go through his mind: Arcibal seducing him, begging for Tintin to let him take him because he just couldn't retain his passions any longer, and then Tintin would – still shy like a virgin but aroused and unable to wait – open himself to Arcibal, be conquered fully in the ultimate union; and he wondered how it would feel to have that hard, thick member inside him as he wrapped arms and legs around Arcibal's broad stature, lost in passionate delight.

The idea made Tintin dizzy with the strong rush of blood departing from his brain to his growing erection; and again he retreated behind the bed curtains, surrending to his own touch and the images in his mind to the point of sweet release.

.

.

.

It was not enough.

Even his father, who noticed things last (after Blanca and Nestoros who instantly knew when something was on the boy's mind), has suspected that something was not quite right.

„Tell me, Tintin", he said with his gentle but firm orator voice, „is there something bothering you?"

Tintin shook his head – a little too hastily, jeopardizing his credibility. „No, not at all, Father."

„Is your new slave giving you trouble?"

„Oh, but no! Absolutely not. He is perfect- wonderful!"

„This is precisely why you can't be too lax with him, my son. You aren't very strict with him, and apparently have not established sufficient distance. I warn you of thinking that he could be your friend – masters and servants do not become friends! And if they do it is usually a scheme of the slave to take advantage of his master."

Tintin nodded silently.

„Do you hear me? There's a reason they're slaves. Rome has subjected the inferior races and they've learnt to obey. This is what they do best. It's the order of nature. And now they depend on us. If any comparison can be made they're like our children – but not friends; never friends. I think you haven't fully realized that yet, Tintin."

„I understand, Father." It was a lie. One like Arcibal Hadoc did not need to be dependent on anyone, so much was clear. He was a prisoner. A majestic bird in a gilded cage.

.

.

.

Tintin had decided there was no way around it. He needed the experience, but above all, his body hungered for it, craved the touch of a man.

Under false pretenses he had sneaked out of the villa alone, leaving even Milon behind, to execute his plan.

He would imagine it was Arcibal.

It was a very simple plan. He knew the way other men, complete strangers, often looked at him, and now, for the first time, he would take advantage of it. The desire was simply too great. He constantly fantasized about Arcibal's hands possessively grasping his waist or kneading his bottom, or a muscular hairy thigh pushing between his own and forcing his legs apart; and he wanted to surrender to this, wanted it so badly that now it had to happen.

He had just taken a bath in the _Therma Agrippinae Minoris_ in a faraway part of the town, a bathhouse he seldomly frequented, and had scouted the pool for interested looks from men that were his type, and he had made sure to return the looks with coy smiles and coquettish movements, although he was starting to sense a slight uneasiness in his stomach.

It was all right. He would enjoy this little game.

Finally one stranger showed intense interest. It was a burly man, younger and shorter than Arcibal but with a similar strong build and a generous amount of chest hair. He stared at Tintin as a hunter would fixate on his prey.

Tintin took his shoulder bag with him in which he kept his toiletries and clothes, and went to one of the dressing-rooms he presumed to be empty. Indeed there was no one here, and he was alone in the fresco-decorated chamber with small wooden benches and colorful walls. He did not need to look around him; the stranger's steps approaching him were clearly audible.

_Now, Tintin!_ He had to act quickly.

For absolutely no reason the uneasiness grew greater. What in Jove's name was he doing here? But he couldn't just back out now, could he?

Dropping the towel wrapped around his middle Tintin bent down to retrieve a small bottle of olive oil from his bag, presenting his backside to whoever was now walking through the door, and started to spread the oil over his body as people did to keep the skin from getting dry after a bath.

The man now stood behind Tintin who could hear him breathe.

A little awkwardly Tintin bent his arms behind his back, trying to apply olive oil to the area between his shoulder blades and below, areas difficult to reach.

Finally the stranger spoke, voice heavy with lust. „_Salve_, beautiful. Do you need help?"

The voice sent a strange shudder down Tintin's spine that left him confused. He had a deep husky voice just like Arcibal. But it wasn't him.

It wasn't the right man.

He shouldn't be doing this! This was the wrong thing to do at the wrong moment. Although Tintin couldn't put the reason into words, he _knew_.

Turning around to look at the stranger he said, „No, thank you."All of a sudden he felt naked and vulnerable even though many had seen him nude in the bath-house before. He tried to avoid the man's gaze, and for a moment he was not sure what to do. Finish applying olive oil? Just walk away? The following awkward seconds felt like minutes until the stranger spoke.

„Well, aren't you a catty cocktease!"

Tintin didn't need to look at him to be aware of the contempt on his scowling face.

„Promising things you never give. At least you enjoy it, eh, tart? Well, I'm gonna leave you alone, but the next man's not gonna be that kind, so watch out for that sweet ass of yours, boy."

.

.

.

The stranger had left almost as quickly as he had appeared.

What had he just done? Tintin felt regret but also relief – he'd always thought that he was the one in control of his penis, not the other way around. How difficult it was to stay in control! He'd _almost_ had intercourse in the Greek way for the very first time. He collected his clothes and began to dress. Although relieved to be rid of the unknown man he also had lost all desire. The stranger's hurtful words left a painful weight deep down in his gut.

Tintin's cheeks flushed red with shame. What had gotten into him that he'd acted like a wanton _moecha _?

Other patrons entered the dressing room, casually chatting, and Tintin scolded himself for having been foolish: it was dangerous to seek out strangers like that. What if he'd fallen into the hand of a depraved murderer or perverted torturer? What if others had caught him in the act? What if others would have joined in, regardless of whether he wanted it or not?

Clearly he should have thought out his plan better in advance.

If only he could make Arcibal his willing lover!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

April 2nd, A.D. 64

Several days after his failed adventure Tintin knew that it hadn't changed his mind about his slave in the slightest. Although ashamed he had backed out so soon, and still hurt by a stranger's words, he wanted Arcibal more than ever.

Yet he was too shy to do anything more than walk close next to him in the crowded city streets, and to hold onto his muscular arms whenever masses of people clogging the roads provided a valid excuse.

But one day another thing happened that Tintin immediately used to his advantage.

Last night, the villa of Senator Gnaeus Aurelius Naso had been burglarized; and the young son of the house, who'd surprised the burglars, had been knocked out and hadn't yet recovered from the attack. Valuable works of art and hundreds of _denarii_ had been stolen.

Gnaeus was a close friend of Tintin's father who shared his political views and secret longing for the old Republic, and furthermore his villa was just across the street so they were the first to hear about the incident.

The two district prefects, Tomsus and Tomso, had been called to investigate damage in the villa and to interrogate possible suspects, only to conclude that living in the city was dangerous. „Very dangerous, indeed! A mugger in every corner!" - „To be precise: A cugger in every morner."

The robbery had been the only conversation topic during dinner at the house of the Remii, and Tintin had seized the opportunity. He had asked his father to let Arcibal sleep in Tintin's bedroom. „He'll protect me if a robber enters. Didn't you buy him for my protection, Father?"

Gaius had mumbled a sign of disapproval but he could not deny Tintin his request. Of course his only son's safety was of paramount importance.

Tintin knew he wouldn't be able to sleep all night, sharing a bedroom with Arcibal, but he had devised a plan to finally rid himself of his fears and take what he wanted.

At night the room was dark save for the small oil lamp burning in the corner, its diminishing twilight allowing Tintin to see only the most important: Arcibal sleeping on a makeshift mattress next to the platform on which Tintin's bed stood.

Arcibal slept like a stone, his quiet snoring the only sound in the room.

Very carefully Tintin pulled back his bedcover, and slowly, on tiptoes, stepped on the ground. He saw little, but Arcibal's reclining figure was clearly visible. The slave was sleeping on his back, covered with a sheet from the stomach down. Tintin could barely see it in the dark but he knew what lay before him; imagined the strong hairy chest and muscular shoulders.

He knelt next to Arcibal. His own heartbeat seemed louder than the man's snoring.

Tintin's plan was a simple one. He'd give him pleasure, nothing more and nothing less. Surely no man could resist or reject such a thing. Tintin still heard the chiding voice in the back of his mind, telling him that one just didn't do such things to another person without permission, slave or not. But he wanted this, wanted more of Arcibal. To touch him casually, to see him naked in the bath, to catch a whiff of his sweat – all these things had incited Tintin's appetite to the point that he couldn't bear the hunger any longer.

_If I make him feel good he won't resent me._

Very slowly and carefully Tintin slid back the bedsheet covering his slave, exposing the man's nude body all the way down to his knees.

In the darkness his forms were barely discernible but he could identify the lower edges of Arcibal's rib cage, the dark line of hair beneath his bellybutton, the sturdy thighs – and most importantly, the big, semi-soft member seemingly asleep in a nest of curly dark hair.

Placing his hands to both sides of Arcibal's hips Tintin brought his face closer to his groin. The scent of musk was heady, making him pause for a moment, and for a second he was shocked how real, how naughty and forbidden this was -

...probably the naughtiest thing he had ever done! - and so real, warm and alive in its intoxicating physical presence, this taste his body longed for. Tintin's mouth was a mere hand's width away from its target, and trying to stay as quiet as possible he inhaled, very careful to breathe out as slowly and soundlessly as possible. When he'd ascertained that Arcibal was indeed sleeping like a rock, he moved his lips across the warm length of his slave's manhood, tasting salt and musk, and then taking it into his mouth.

Even in its inactive state there was still a lot of it. But Arcibal stayed asleep so Tintin's courage grew; and he grasped his slave's cock at the base with one hand, using the other hand to support himself on the ground. Starting to suck, he could only guess how to go about this, but soon he noticed how effective it was. Arcibal was growing hard in Tintin's mouth and hand, encouraging him further.

Whatever inhibitions might have been left in Tintin's mind disappeared. It was amazing! He almost regretted he couldn't see it well in the dark but that heightened his other sensations. He felt the tender, hot skin of Arcibal's wonderfully hard cock, smelled and tasted the very own essence of his desire's object, and heard his own low but obscene sucking sounds.

Tintin, too, was now excited and erect, and with one hand he let go of Arcibal's cock to touch his own.

„_Ehi!"_

Something warm bumped against Tintin's head, and the boy found himself pushed back. Then his shoulders were grabbed by a pair of strong hands.

_Pro di immortales!_

Arcibal had awoken-! - he had noticed... he had interrupted-!

Tintin set on to speak, but nothing except a few gasps escaped him. Hot blood rushed to his face, and he realized how dirty and shameful a thing he had done.

„Tintin, _domine?_", Arcibal whispered in the dark.

The fact that Tintin couldn't bring himself to act like a master made the situation worse. He was supposed to take what he wanted, not to act like a small boy trapped with his hand in the honey pot! He was making a fool of himself in front of his slave, a compromised and embarrassed mess, and wanted to cry. „I'm sorry", he croaked.

Ready to return to his own bed he tried to get up, but to his surprise Arcibal's hands on his shoulders held him firmly in place.

Tintin's breathing quickened, and suddenly the slave's face was so close to his own that he could feel the other's similarly excited breath, and when Arcibal spoke his voice was barely audible but made Tintin's body shiver.

„You want my cock?"

Tintin froze. What had Arcibal just said? Had he misheard?

But then the man's hands pressed down on his shoulders, and Tintin gave in. Resting on his knees he bent over facedown, as if diving into Arcibal's lap, and then a hand gently pushed his head back to where it had been previously.

„Suck it good, boy."

Arcibal's erection was still hard and moist, and he slapped it lightly against Tintin's cheek.

It had the effect of turning a lever inside Tintin's mind, and he knew he would do anything now, anything to please the other. He was not a master anymore, he was obedient and pliable, a boy whore to be used in whatever way Arcibal wanted. He moaned, and opened his mouth, letting him guide his cock inside.

Warm shivers of triumph washed through his body and made his genitals tingle as he took up Arcibal's erection inside his mouth, enclosing it with wet, willing lips.

„Oh, yes", Arcibal groaned. He kept his hand on Tintin's head, caressing the boy's hair.

Tintin moved his head up and down slowly, feeling the weight of the hand on his head, wondering if Arcibal would use more force. He could do it right now, ram it further inside and make him gag, and the idea made Tintin both nervous and aroused. By Jove, his slave could use him now in every way imaginable and he would play along, their roles completely reversed...!

He focused on sucking harder, sensed the man's palm pressing him down more firmly. Arcibal's breathing increased to the point that he was almost panting.

„I'm going to come soon", he said. „I want you to swallow it all."

Tintin continued his wet sucking, and his stomach tensed with sudden excitement at the man's words - he'd be filled up full with cum, all that Arcibal had held back would be unloaded into Tintin's mouth.

The idea was almost too much, and Tintin let go of the now glistening wet cock for a short pause to collect more saliva, but a moment later Arcibal forced it back inside. „Suck it, _amasiuncula_", he demanded, voice low and hoarse.

And Tintin did what he was told.

His jaw was starting to ache and his own erection even more so, and he wondered if Arcibal saw it. Had he noticed how much it excited Tintin to be used in this way?

The air was warm and stifling, the smell of sex intoxicating. Tintin licked and sucked, and soon the signs became clear – the telltale twitching in his mouth, and he was thrilled to the point of panic at what would happen. There was no way out. Arcibal held his head rigidly in place.

The first jet of seed hit the back of Tintin's throat, hot and salty and forced him to cough; but full and stuffed as he was he managed only a gagging sound. Alarmed by the sheer potency of the shot he tried to pull his head back but could not. Two more overwhelming loads filled his mouth, and it took him a second before he remembered to swallow.

Some was leaking out, dropping from his lips when Arcibal finally let go and withdrew from Tintin's mouth. Both were panting, and Tintin coughed again. His heartbeat felt wild and excited, and a peculiar thrill and calmness overtook him at the same time. He had gotten what he wanted - better yet, Arcibal had given it out of his own free will, and Tintin had taken all he could.

It was not enough. It would never be enough.

„Arcibal", he panted. „do anything you want with me."

He'd have Arcibal fill him up with his precious seed over and over again, and Tintin would carry it around with him like a badge. He wanted his slave to mark and possess him, and it would be their secret that no one but them would know!

„Shht", Arcibal whispered. „Go to sleep."

„But..." Tintin realized how whiny his voice sounded. He was still painfully aroused, and clasped one hand around his erection.

Arcibal caressed Tintin's thigh, and then gave it a light slap. „Go to sleep."

A short pause followed and Tintin realized that he had no choice but to obey. Arcibal was the one in control. Standing up on shaky legs he climbed back into his own bed.

The slave was soon asleep, sheet pulled up over his body, and the sound of his quiet snores filled the room.

While Tintin stroked himself to his own climax with trembling, sweaty hands he savoured the last traces of Arcibal's cum on his tongue.

.

.

.

to be continued


	5. Chapter 5

The Jewel of the Empire

Chapter V

For breakfast Tintin liked the wheat gruel his father always said was fit only for the poor folk, but it tasted quite good when Blanca cooked it with honey, milk and a dash of exotic spices, and she prepared it for Tintin that way each morning.

But on this morning, when Tintin and Arcibal sat on a wooden bench in the kitchen, eating their porridge, it also tasted of awkwardness. They barely looked at each other. Tintin knew he had crossed a limit by acting like a whore last night. What does Arcibal now think of me, I wonder? Surely the slave would lose respect for his master. He would think of Tintin as a weakling, incapable of commanding a single barbarian!

When Blanca has left the kitchen to go to the market as she did on most mornings they were alone in the room.  
Arcibal stood up from the bench only to kneel down on the cold stone floor in front of Tintin, head bowed.

„Tintin, _domine_, I ask your forgiveness for my outrageous behaviour."

For a moment Tintin was confused then he remembered how Arcibal had reacted to his inappropiate, wanton willingness. It had felt good, and above all it had felt right, so it hadn't occured to Tintin at first that Arcibal might have similarly crossed a line. Hadn't he given Tintin an actual order, forced his head down, told him to „suck it good"?

„I committed a crime", Arcibal said. „I... _te irrumavi_."

The words triggered a pleasant shudder throughout Tintin's body, making him blush. Quick, he must say something! He had to make this right.

„If you'll sell me away", Arcibal continued, „or punish me in any way you see fit, I deserve it, _domine_."

„Arcibal, don't. Look at me."

Blinking, he looked at Tintin.

„It's all right", Tintin said. „I wanted that."

Silence hung between them like a curtain, and Arcibal blinked again. „Is that true, _domine_?"

Tintin patted the empty place on the wooden bench next to him. „Sit by my side." He paused, and remembered something. „Tell me, are things different in Greece? Aren't there many more who have experienced the other love?"

Arcibal sighed, then lifted his shoulders, shrugging. „There used to be a tradition of young men like you to have an older lover... like me," he added with a whisper, „but it's no longer common. But if you want one when you're already grown up, that's still a good and natural thing, nothing to be ashamed of. In all places there are men like that, who never get interested in women."

Still blushing, Tintin nodded.

Arcibal put his hands on the lad's shoulders where they felt rough and warm, and oh so good. His voice sounded earnest. „We must be very cautious, domine."

Both knew what wasn't being said. A love union between them would be the ultimate risk. Legally, Tintin's father could even condemn Arcibal to death when he determined that Tintin had been violated by his slave!

„If only we could elope." Tintin knew it was a silly idea but he had recently read Ovid's tale of Pyramus and Thisbe who had done just that and he remembered that there were no wild lions here in Rome, no dangerous beast to hinder them.

Arcibal's hands slid down Tintin's arms, all the way down to his hands, enclosing them in his own. „My master, please don't do anything rushed. You're young and hot-blooded. You haven't had great responsibility in life yet. If you give yourself to me in a temporary passion you might regret it later. Too often we don't notice-"

_What?!_ Was Arcibal saying that Tintin didn't know what he was doing? He was just about to react offended when Nestoros entered the kitchen. Both master and slave abruptly fell silent.

Nestoros glanced at them, and with his usual nonchalant expression he remarked, „_Domine_, should you require oil for the purpose of consummating the Greek way of love with your... newly acquired servant, may I suggest you utilize the Tuscan variety in the corner, not the expensive Sicilian oil that your father takes with his green salads. Thank you very much."

.

.

.

They walked to the academy in silence, Tintin marching ahead and Arcibal following close behind, carrying the boy's books and writing materials. He didn't like to admit it to himself but he was sulking. What had been the purpose of the liberalia if not to make him an adult? He knew perfectly well what he was doing, and what he wanted!

.

.

.

The wine made Tintin's head feel light and eased his mood. They sat in the garden, watching the sun set behind the high stone walls, and Tintin took another sip from his cup, leaning on his slave's shoulder, hoping Arcibal might put an arm around him.

Arcibal did not react but continued to gaze at the clouds. Perhaps he was daydreaming about his _patria –_ Caledonia. His family and past, forever irretrievable.

„Arcibal", Tintin said and took his slave's face in one hand, turning it to the side to make him look at him. The alcohol gave him courage. His cheeks felt warm, his eyelids heavier than usual. „I want you to kiss me."

There might have been a fleeting expression of shock in Arcibal's eyes but Tintin saw only their deep blue color that reminded him of the sea.

„Domine, please consider that you're risking my life."

Tintin needed a moment to process the words but his immediate reaction was protest, all shame suppressed by the effects of drink. „But you did it that night – you let me suck you... no, you_ made_ me, you pushed it inside, you held my head-"

„I thought it was a dream."

Tintin bit his lip. Although affected by the wine he realized how desperate he sounded, and his cheeks turned a shade redder at the thought of what he could do. Here. Now. _Oh yes._ The green grass they sat on, how inviting it looked...! What if he were to lie down and pull Arcibal onto him, right between his opened legs... it would be a very quick, frantic and risky venture, they could be discovered at any moment, but Arcibal would fuck him all the harder, _by Jove_, right here on this grass...!

As if he'd read Tintin's thoughts he repeated, „You're risking my life, domine. If Master Gaius finds out..."

„He's a petty-minded old man who knows nothing of love!" Tintin blurted out, and to his own shock he did not regret those words.

Arcibal frowned. And then, to Tintin's great surprise, he leaned his head forward and quickly looked around in all directions, and then grabbed the back of the boy's head and pressed a hard, scratchy kiss right onto Tintin's mouth.

It was over as quickly as it had occured.

Arcibal leaned back, exhaling. Tintin stared at him, hardly able to believe both the man's action and the fact that he, too, was now blushing beneath his beard. Then he breathed out, and knew he would remember this forever.

„Oh..." The golden light of the setting sun, the chirping of birds and crickets in the garden mixing with the street noise from outside, the bristly sensation of Arcibal's beard on his skin, the force of his chapped lips pressing against Tintin's... he would remember this. Tintin smiled. A joyful lightness like the flapping of a hundred butterfly wings spread throughout Tintin's stomach, and it wasn't the alcohol.

But whatever cloud Tintin might have floated on quickly cast him back to Earth, for Nestoros entered the garden and announced that Gaius wanted to talk to his son.

.

.

.

„It's a celebration with a theatre play." Gaius sighed. How he detested those dumb, trivial Plebeian entertainments! „My friend the senator Gnaeus Tullius Curcubitus invites us, and he has requested to see you too, now that you are an adult. After the... um, stage show we shall continue to feast at his villa."

These stage shows! He had avoided to let Tintin see them whenever possible. All those depraved hoodlums and loose women on stage were a bad influence on a youth like his precious Tintin.

„I will gladly accompany you, Father." As usual Tintin was an obedient son.

.

.

.

Of course Tintin had seen a few theatre plays in the past, even the obscene ones that his father would never have allowed him to attend.

But on this occasion he would soon wish that he had never been there.

TRANSLATIONS from Latin:

_Te irrumavi _= I face-fucked you

_patria_ = fatherland


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

April 4th, A.D. 64

As Tintin had expected the theatre staged a tragedy, a tale he was familiar with: the ill-fated love of Pyramus and Thisbe, a young couple who were allowed to reunite only in death.

Gaius' fellow senator had invited many Patrician guests - in fact, he had rented the entire theatre for his private celebration. Tintin had asked his father to let Arcibal accompany him, and Gaius had allowed it, provided that the slave wore a longer, white tunic with decorated edges and a gilded linen belt. But Gaius also pointed out how the fine garment contrasted with the slave's generous arm and leg hair that it showed off. "We'll always see he's a barbarian no matter what he wears."  
Upon hearing these words Tintin's face had reddened in protest, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together to stay quiet. He mustn't say these troublesome words, that this so-called barbarian look made him want and touch. That Arcibal was a real man unlike those effeminate Patricians around him. Rarely had Tintin felt defiance before. But he kept quiet.

Dawn was fast approaching and Tintin's arms were covered in goosebumps from the cool evening air. The theatre was full of well-dressed people of which some chatted while others watched the play. Arcibal must have noticed that Tintin felt slightly cold - he put an arm around the boy's shoulders.

Tintin looked down at his lap, noticing how narrow he appeared - even with his toga - next to Arcibal whose sturdy thighs were half exposed from the riding up tunic. If there was one thing Tintin knew for sure it was that one didn't just touch other people without their permission.  
_But I've done more before. And he's my slave._ It took a conscious decision for Tintin to put his hand on Arcibal's thigh, just where the linen ended and skin warmed beneath his fingertips.  
Arcibal's eyes stayed fixed on the stage but his other hand landed atop Tintin's, feeling warm and rough and comforting; and in this way they sat through the duration of the play.

.

.

.

At the senator's villa several richly dressed people, most of them high-ranking senate members and their wives, crowded the _triclinium_, garden and _atrium_.

Tintin's father dragged him into a quiet corner to talk to him.

"Listen, my son, it's possible the Emperor may be here tonight."

Tintin nodded. It wouldn't be surprising: No nobleman worth his salt would pass up an opportunity to rub elbows with the Emperor himself, thus Nero was invited to many parties of members of the aristocracy. And apparently Gaius remembered how Nero had approached Tintin in the public bath four years ago.

"But he's married now-" - both knew that Nero had snatched away the General Otho's wife Poppaea Sabina and made her his own - "and it's possible that he is no longer interested in young men. And he might not remember you at all."

Tintin bit his lower lip, pondering whether he should tell him that Nero had talked to him in the Therma Sabinae only two weeks ago. But what if Gaius got the wrong idea? Under no circumstances must he have the slightest suspicion about Tintin's preferences!

"So in case we meet him I shall introduce you properly as if nothing whatsoever had happened", Gaius said. "To be frank I don't care much for you to meet him. He is an immature, depraved tyrant from a corrupted bloodline; but this is politics, and as long as he is in power we better assure him of our loyalty."

There was a question that had lingered inside Tintin's mind for quite a while, and hearing his father speak of Nero with so little esteem gave Tintin courage to ask. "Is it true... what the people say? That he murdered his mother?"

"Plebeian slander", Gaius muttered. "No, of course not. She died in a shipwreck."

"And his brother? Britannicus?"

Gaius waved a hand. "An epileptic. My son! I forbid you to listen to such things. These in power are accused of the most heinous crimes every day - all malevolent, false rumours of jealous minds! You hear?"

Tintin nodded. "Of course, Father."

.

.

Obedience to their parents was the most revered virtue in any son or daughter of Rome; so Tintin followed Gaius' every step and let him introduce him to the top of the aristocracy. Arcibal lingered close by, keeping a polite distance from the fine folk, but smiled reassuringly at Tintin whenever the boy stealthily turned to look at him.

The main conversation topic seemed to be that new religious sect from the East. Its followers who called themselves _cristiani_ were said to drink the blood of their god, and they were led by an old man called Petrus who spread all sorts of strange teachings. Tintin had once talked to a friend who'd attended a congregation of _cristiani_, and both agreed that they were potential troublemakers. It was better to stay out of such affairs.

They were just talking to the host of the _convivium_ when all of a sudden everyone stopped their lively chatter; and both Gaius and Tintin looked in the same direction as everyone else.

Emperor Nero had just entered the villa. He wore the formal attire of the Caesars, a purple robe with gold thread borders; and on his head sat a gilded laurel wreath. _How strange,_ Tintin thought, _he's walking barefoot!_  
His wife Poppaea Sabina had locked her arm into his, and she wore many more glittering jewels than suited a woman of her petite stature.

As he had promised Gaius introduced his son to the Emperor.

"Martinus Augustinus, huh?" Nero looked at Tintin with a wide grin, then back at Gaius. "How curious, he doesn't look like your son at all."

Poppaea Sabina's small mouth widened in a barely suppressed giggle.

"His mother had red hair, Your Majesty", Gaius replied.

Tintin shot an anxious glance to Arcibal who stood in a far corner of the room. Then he looked back at Nero, feeling uneasy under the Emperor's intense gaze. _Iuppiter, subveni me!_

"Haven't I seen you before?" Nero asked.

Tintin forced himself to stay calm. Uncertainty about what Gaius might do if he knew Tintin had met the Emperor just recently - and _not_ told him about it - made him pause for several seconds until he said, "It is possible, Your Majesty."

Nero leaned forward - so close to Tintin's ear that he held his breath and could have sworn the room became a little quieter - and his hot breath brushed over Tintin's cheek as he whispered, "Your slave, the rascal, did you bring him?"

A hundred apologies for Arcibal's behaviour at the bathhouse entered Tintin's mind but he couldn't tell all, not in front of his father, so he only uttered, "Yes."

"Ah, did you?" Nero chuckled, and again whispered so only Tintin could understand it. "I'm sure he takes good care of you. He's a fine stallion. Enjoy the ride."

Tintin's cheeks heated up in an instant, and Nero had stepped back so he could see it, and there was a wide grin on his face. He turned to Gaius. "Well then, Senator! Poppaea and I thank you for the acquaintance."

When the imperial couple was out of earshot Gaius grabbed Tintin's shoulders. "What did he say?!"

"Nothing", Tintin blurted out but could not conceal that he was every bit as anxious as his father.

"Revered guests!" A high-pitched but loud voice commanded everyone's attention. It was that young man whom Tintin recognized as Nero's friend Petronius, the writer of daring erotica. "You are invited to hear Our Majesty's newest composition, conceived and written by his own brilliant mind!"

People listened attentively. All eyes were fixed on Petronius and the Emperor who sat on a divan next to him, holding a harp. "Our beloved Emperor just so happens to be Rome's most talented poet, as you already know. This piece is new, never before performed. It is called 'To an Exotic Beauty' and speaks of unrequited true love."

And Nero began to sing.

His voice, accompanied by the chirping of the harp was neither bad nor swoon-inducing, but everyone listened as though stricken by the song of the legendary Orpheus himself that could stop Sisyphus in his tracks and bring the dead back to life.

_Sine comparatio tale pulchritudo  
Quae capit ferociter cordem meam_

His nervousness returned when he noticed Nero looking at him.

_De vero forma virtutem decorat  
Nam nihil superat gratiam amoris mei  
nisi egregia virtute sua._

Someone moved close against Tintin from behind and he exhaled with relief when he noticed that it was Arcibal. He leaned back slightly against the older man, aware that Nero's gaze now rested on them both.

_Dic mihi - quod imperabis servum tuum?  
In eternitate sum a te coniunctus  
per arte magica illis venustatis!_

"He's looking at you." Arcibal's whisper was barely audible at Tintin's ear. The latter did not move, unwilling to reveal his uneasiness. In fact, Nero gazed at him with unconcealed lust, much like a soldier would take inventory of a town's street whores.  
Tintin grasped his slave's hand.

.

.

Arcibal Hadoc had drunk his share of wine, too, and a lot more than it was deemed suitable for a slave. Tintin, fully sober himself, had to half drag, half push him home, while Gaius - accompanied by a hired guard - walked in front of them, occasionally turning to give them a disapproving glance.

Back home in Tintin's bedroom Arcibal started to rant about how in his native Caledonia the men weren't gluttonous weaklings full of themselves like this emperor but noble warriors who knew their values and how to fight for them. Tintin, afraid his father might hear it, told him, "Keep quiet, you're drunk! This is an order!"

"Tintin, I saw how he looked at you, that filthy _hircus_, that _cinaedeus_...! _Ganeo! Impudicus! Stultissimus!_ What we do with such men back home in my land-"

"Arcibal!" Tintin raised his voice. "Enough!" He had to be more strict than usual now to counteract the excitement fluttering in his stomach. _He doesn't want Nero to look at me?_ Tintin knew that people sometimes said outrageous but honest things under the influence of wine.

"You wouldn't want someone like him, would you, Tintin?" Strange enough, he'd dropped the formal speech.  
And then he grabbed Tintin's arm, pulling him nearer to himself on his makeshift bed next to Tintin's bed. "You're a honest lad... not like those corrupted fat moneybags. You - hic! - won't become like that, will you?"

Tintin's heart was pounding hard inside his rib cage, and for a moment Arcibal's hand was all Tintin could feel, all the reality he wanted to know. If Arcibal wanted him in this way... Now he was uninhibited, wasn't he? If he were to pull Tintin down, to trap him beneath his strong body-! This was the opportunity!

"Oh." Tintin let out an involuntary sigh as he felt the familiar warm rush of blood to his nether regions, and at the same time his common sense shouted at him to stop it now, go to sleep-!

_But Arcibal wants this too!_

He stopped thinking. This was right and good. Their faces joined, and his mouth met Arcibal's.

"Oh."

Tintin closed his eyes, and parted his lips which Arcibal took full advantage of. Their tongues met in playful discovery. It was wetter than Tintin had anticipated, and Arcibal's beard felt soft rather than bristly. Opening his mouth wider he surrendered to the sensation; and when he felt a big warm hand caressing the back of his head he responded with a muffled moan.  
What had been small tentative sips soon turned to greedy drinking. Tintin's head became dizzy as though inebriated, and when Arcibal leaned back down on his bed he half dragged, half let Tintin fall atop him.  
Not surprisingly his body felt strong and sturdy, as though made to carry twice Tintin's weight, and the boy allowed himself to relax, kissing and being kissed back. His hot abdomen and groin pulsated against Arcibal's own increasing size.

_Pro di immortales!_ He was on Mount Olympus and the gods loved him. And Arcibal wanted it, wanted him, and nothing else had ever felt so good and right before! -

- that was, until he noticed that Arcibal had stopped responding. Confused, Tintin propped hinself up on his hands, looking at the man.

A quiet snore told him that Arcibal had fallen asleep.

.

.

The next morning, as Blanca was making _sapa_ in a leaden pot which Tintin waited for so he could pour some on his porridge, a messenger brought a letter to Tintin.

The messenger was one of the _augustiani_, Nero's personal servants.

**-  
LATIN TRANSLATIONS:**

_Iuppiter, subveni me! -_ Jove, help me!_  
_  
_Sine comparatio tale pulchritudo  
Quae capit ferociter cordem meam - _Without comparison is such beauty / That captured my heart fiercely_  
_  
_De vero forma virtutem decorat  
Nam nihil superat gratiam amoris mei  
nisi egregia virtute sua. -_ Indeed does beauty adorn virtue / For nothing surpasses the allure of my beloved / Except his splendid virtue._  
_  
_Dic mihi - quod imperabis servum tuum?  
In eternitate sum a te coniunctus  
per arte magica illis venustatis! - _Tell me, what do you order your servant? / Forever I am bound to you / Through the magic of your allure!

Pro di immortales! -

By the immortal gods!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

Gaius Prospero Remius, being the ever watchful patriarch of the house, was quick to determine from Nero's letter that a most outrageous situation was about to unfold.

_Martinum Augustinum salutem,_

the letter read,

_My Majesty is most pleased to have made the acquaintance with your charming person. As a son of Senator Remius you have perhaps considered a career in politics, and I would like to get to know you personally while giving you the opportunity to learn more about current state affairs. _

_Please come to the Palace unaccompanied on the evening of Prid. Id. Aprilis. _

The letter bore the Emperor's seal.

Gaius was furious. Would his precious, innocent Tintin eventually recognize that the Emperor was interested in everything but politics? As if that depraved fool knew anything about reigning an empire! His memory from last night was vivid; he'd seen clearly how much lust there had been in Nero's gaze when he'd looked at Tintin.

_How dare he?!_ How dare he send for the son of a senator to lay his filthy hands on him!

Was nothing sacred any more?

.

.

.

Today, instead of walking to the academy, Tintin and Arcibal had escaped to the ruins of an ancient oracle among the shrubs and trees off the Via Appia, the only place where Tintin sometimes could be truly alone. Milon accompanied them, and even he seemed worried. The little white dog had seen and smelled Tintin's upset when the boy had read the letter. Whatever it was, it was still on his master's mind.

Never before had Tintin skipped classes. But both he and Arcibal, upon reading Nero's letter, had recognized that right now there were more pressing matters at hand.

Having shed all of their clothes they lay down beneath an old olive tree while Milon kept watch in a polite distance.

They hadn't discussed it at length but merely concluded that they both wanted it, and that the Emperor of all people was not supposed to have Tintin's „flower", as Arcibal eloquently put it.

„_Dorme mecum_", Tintin had said as he wrapped his legs around the other man's torso, not minding the scratchy dry grass pricking the skin between his shoulder blades. He held onto Arcibal as they kissed, and let his hands roam over his muscular arms, the sturdy back and rib cage, feeling where smooth skin transitioned to patches of hair. If all barbarians were like that, oh, they could overtake Rome at any moment. It was one of the few coherent thoughts he manage now.

Arcibal kissed him with both hunger and tenderness, cradling Tintin's body and head in his arms and hand, and Tintin imitated the movements of his tongue.

Arcibal's erection was bobbing against his stomach, smearing warm pre-cum over his skin, and Tintin tried to shift his position to feel it even better. He reached a hand down to align Arcibal's cock with his own, then felt bold and grabbed them both at once. They did not both fit in his hand but he still managed to rub them against one another.

They gasped and moaned into each other's mouths, exchanging increasingly ardent breaths. Tintin sensed Arcibal's hand caress his side, sliding down to his thigh.

He could tell from Arcibal's reddened face how excited the other man was, and when Arcibal returned to an upright position, kneeling between Tintin's legs, Tintin could see his erection as well. Large and slick with pre-cum it aimed at him, more than ready, but Arcibal took his time. He kissed the insides of Tintin's thighs, paying close attention to the sensitive areas just next to the boy's genitals. His warm breaths and bristly beard just brushed over them, light like a waft of air, but for Tintin it was delicious torture. He reacted with breathless moaning, and his legs twitched even when Arcibal grabbed them more firmly.

„Arcibal..." Tintin extended his arm further down, his fingers wet and slippery with their essence, to show him just where he wanted him. He'd touched himself there before, wondering what it would be like if a man entered him. How would Arcibal feel inside him?

„Have patience, _amor_", the slave said. He, too, was breathing heavier than usual, and continued kissing and licking Tintin in places the latter hadn't known to be so sensitive.

„By Jove", Tintin gasped, and clamped the fingers of both hands in the grass on the ground to his sides to keep himself from writhing so much under Arcibal's ministrations – especially when he turned his attention to Tintin's cock which was now at full size.

Arcibal took him into his mouth, and Tintin replied with a drawn-in breath and a groan.

_So that's how it felt for him._

The older man seemed impatient now, and stopped – just in time, for Tintin was getting close to climax – to position himself between Tintin's thighs once more, holding his own erection while he moistened it with saliva.

„Tintin..." All formal speech, all differences in status no longer existed at this moment. „You ready?"

„Yes, yes, I am", Tintin gasped, pulling his legs as far back as he could manage, exposing himself fully. By Jove, it was happening. He could hardly believe it – his fantasies were coming true! But there was no time to be amazed. Arousal was taking over, and he needed him now. He was ready!

Or was he? He groaned when Arcibal tried to enter him, that rock solid erection pressing against his entrance.

_Relax, Tintin, relax!_

Another push, and Arcibal forced himself in with a slow thrust. Tintin cried out and for a moment failed to differentiate between passion and pain. He whimpered, his fingers digging into the man's back, but he encouraged him with a lip-biting smile to continue.

As Arcibal's hard, heavy cock pushed inside him Tintin watched his flushed face, recognizing in his slave's glossed-over eyes the same amazement and wonder that also overwhelmed him. Arcibal's lips were slightly parted, and wetness glittered in the wrinkled corners of his eyes.

„Tintin,_ amor_..." His voice was raspy. „I'm in you, all the way..."

Tintin wanted to see what he felt. He pushed himself up on his elbows but could not get a good look at what filled him out, stretching him so wide. Slowly he was getting used to the sensation. Arcibal was seated inside him almost completely.

It was a simple fact yet a source of wonder. „Yes... you are."

„Does it hurt?"

Tintin shook his head. „Take me", he muttered between heavy breaths. To actually say such things like a common whore! - but right now it was the only thing he wanted, something that only blunt language could convey. „Fuck me", he whispered, „please, fuck me, I need it."

Arcibal moaned, staring at Tintin, even before beginning to move.

His thrusts were slow and steady, and there was a slight burn but also a pleasant tingling sensation in a spot that made his legs shake when Arcibal pushed deep, nudging against that mysterious place.

Tintin tried to adjust his position, lifting his pelvis so the other man could fill him deeper, intensifying the sensation.

Arcibal, too, seemed eager to make Tintin cry out with pleasure, and experimented with variations in angles, even arranging Tintin's legs over his shoulders.

Tintin reached down to grasp his bottom, holding himself open wide for his beloved. At one particular thrust he moaned out loud, feeling his fingernails dig into his own flesh.

„_Ecce_", Arcibal panted, and kept moving in the same position but faster.

„_Eia age, fortiore_", Tintin begged. His mouth became dry with increased hard breathing. „_Me futue, eia age-!_"

He moved his own pelvis against Arcibal's thrusts, not quite matching the man's rhythm, and soon they both moved harder and faster. Arcibal held Tintin's body in place with his strong arms and hands, dominant and protective at the same time, allowing Tintin to surrender fully to the sensation that became harder to bear with each thrust.

Tintin grasped his own erection and moaned, overwhelmed by the stimulation both inside and outside. His thighs and stomach quivered with the buildup of tension, a delightful pressure he wanted to keep for as long as he could, that kept growing with each jolt of pleasure Arcibal's thrusts sent all the way down to his curled toes.

He didn't want to let it out, not yet, but the desire was stronger than him. Tintin was unable to hold back.

He gasped and moaned as his climax erupted behind his closed eyelids, bright like the fire spouting from a volcano.

His chest heaved with each breath, and he noticed that Arcibal was still there, inside him but motionless, and that he'd witnessed every second of it. Tintin managed a weak smile when Arcibal bent over him slightly to brush away a couple of stray hairs of Tintin's quiff from his sweaty forehead.

„By Jove", Tintin panted. This was more intense than the orgasms he had experienced on his own, and to his slight shock he realized he would not be able to get enough of this man. „Arcibal", he muttered, noticing the older man wasn't moving, „don't you want to come?"

„You look mighty tired, lad. Wouldn't want to wear you out even more."

But Tintin's body was so completely relaxed and uninhibited - it seemed impossible that anything could be too hard on him now. He smiled at his lover, languid and wanton, laying on the grass with open, sweaty thighs, savoring the afterglow. Never before had being filthy felt so right, so good! Thus he found the words easily. „But I want you to come inside me. Fill me with your load, don't hold back. I want to carry your seed inside me."

The blush in Arcibal's face turned a shade deeper. „Tintin", he gasped. „All right... I'm going to fill you to the brim, _lupa_."

Again Tintin pulled his legs back as far as he could, and Arcibal wasted no time, immediately taking him hard. He did not take long to reach his climax, and Tintin saw not only the signs in his face when he came, but to his amazement he also felt a pumping sensation deep inside him, each jet of Arcibal's seed acutely perceptible.

They looked at each other, panting, and gazing at each other's faces with mutual admiration, before Arcibal pulled out and lay down on the grass next to him.

They did not have a lot of time to rest. Just when Tintin closed his eyes he heard Milon's loud barking, indicating that people were nearby. Uttering a curse his father would have punished him for he reached for his clothes.

.

.

.

Later that day they visited a bathhouse. The fresh hot and cold water felt welcome on his skin although Tintin regretted that it washed off the sticky remains of Arcibal's ejaculate on the insides of his thighs. He entertained fantasies about how he would flaunt it to others, how proud he was to be marked as his lover's own.

_Tintin wears no toga this time at the banquet, but a short tunic, the shortest he's ever worn, that shamelessly exposes the lower halves of his buttocks' round orbs, and the eyes of a hundred people are on him. They don't even have to look closely to discover the shiny wetness that's slickened the insides of his thighs, and if they're close enough they can smell it too – briny and musky, the scent of just having been fucked, and it tells them what a dirty boy he is. But he's Arcibal's boy and no one else's, and the other men know it and it drives them mad. Tintin drives them mad, exerting full control and power while they drool helplessly as they stare at him. _

Yes, Tintin was only Arcibal's boy! He noticed he had a silly grin on his face, and quickly pulled himself out of his reverie.

There was an idea Tintin had toyed with before, and now as they relaxed in the hot water he decided to ask. „Say, Arcibal... what would you do if I were to set you free?"

The slave looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if unsure of the seriousness of that question, then replied, „I would probably find work as a tutor for the Greek language."

„Wouldn't you want to go back home?"

„Where to? My family is gone or dead. If I go back to Caledonia I'll be a complete stranger there. And who's to say the Romans haven't conquered it all by now? Might as well stay here."

Tintin nodded, looking at him. Yes, he would be a fine tutor. But if he was free, he'd be allowed to marry also. A pang of jealousy stung Tintin's heart as he imagined Arcibal with a woman for the first time.

But someone like Arcibal wasn't meant to be a slave!

If anything it was meant to be the other way around. Tintin would willingly serve him in each and every way. He blushed at the thought of exchanging roles. Arcibal could train him to be a pleasure slave and Tintin would learn quickly, ready to do anything his master desired.

_Whenever Arcibal returns home after a hard workday he likes to take a bath and Tintin takes care of that. He helps his master relax, and sometimes Arcibal will pull him into the water, and put Tintin's hand between his legs, a signal the boy knows well by now. Tintin does his best to relieve him of stress, and sometimes after he comes Arcibal will kiss him as a sign of approval. On other occasions, after he's out of the water and rubbed dry, he'll demand Tintin's warm wet mouth which the boy is always eager to open for him. He licks and sucks his master's erection until spurts of seed fill his mouth, and each of Arcibal's sighs and moans tells him what a good lad he is._

By Jove, how he would help him _relax!_

Arcibal's words tugged him out of his daydream. „Yes, I'd probably stay in Rome. With you, Tintin. Haven't had a friend in a while... and neither a beloved." He took Tintin's hand into his own. „Slave or free man, I'll stay with you as long as you'll want me."

Tintin's heart skipped a beat. „Me, too", he said breathlessly, „My beloved. _Amo te_."

.

.

.

Gaius Prospero Remius was furious over Tintin's inquiry.

„Setting him free? You want to throw away your most precious possession?! No, I won't allow it! He's your own slave, and if you don't want him, you ungrateful boy, I'll have him back!"

„But he-"

„No, no, and no! Don't dare bring it up again!"

For a moment it appeared as though Tintin would rebel – a moment every Roman parent dreaded (except those who enjoyed punishing their offspring) – but then he simply turned around and walked away.

.

.

.

In the villa's garden Tintin reacted to his seething anger by kicking the pomegranate tree, sending a few shriveled old fruits to the ground. Then he crouched on the grass. At his feet, a lone lizard escaped in a hurry. Tears welled up in his eyes. Wasn't he an adult now? Why wasn't he allowed to set his slave free?

Soon Arcibal joined him. „What is the matter? Is it the Emperor?"

„That, too, but also my father. He's such a stubborn _asinus_."

„You don't say."

„He won't let me free you."

„If you ask me, other things are more important."

Tintin sighed. He had pushed it from his mind but soon he would have to face the Emperor.

.

.

.

One week later

April 12th, A.D. 64

One of Nero's _augustiani_ had arrived to pick up Tintin from his parental home. It was a mere boy, fourteen at most, who introduced himself as Sporus. He looked very feminine and had a high-pitched voice, and that did not ease Tintin's worries in the least.

It turned out that Sporus had brought a litter, carried by four tall, muscular servants, and asked Tintin to climb inside. He told Tintin not to worry, that he was the Emperor's special guest, that Nero would respect and honor the son of a senator.

It was an unusually warm April evening. Within half an hour they arrived at the Palace of the Caesars. Tintin hadn't seen it often before so the giant statue of Nero seemed even more impressive to him than ever. But it depicted the Emperor ten times more atlethic and more handsome than he really was, and he wondered if the people took such images for truth.

The palace was illuminated by torches far up on its balconies, tall lights that appeared big even from a distance. They looked very strange, though – like shriveled old trees bound to long stakes.

„They're burning pretty well, aren't they?" Sporus' tone was casual and chatty as they walked up the wide marble stairs to the palace's entrance.

„What?"

He giggled. „Well, the traitors."

.

.

.

LATIN TRANSLATIONS

_Dorme mecum_ - Sleep with me

_Ecce _- Whoa, there

_Eia age_ - Go on

_fortiore_ - faster

_Me futue_ - fuck me

_lupa_ - she-wolf, whore

_Amo te_ - I love you

_asinus_ - donkey


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

April 12th, A.D. 64

Evening

For the first time in his life Tintin saw the Palace of the Caesars from the inside. Built in a style inspired by Greek architecture it was a grand construction with walls of white Carrara marble, supported by the tallest pillars he had ever seen inside a building. Dozens of oil lamps, high up on the walls illuminated the rooms with a warm, flickering light; their fumes breathing sooty black shades upon the walls and ceilings above.

Sporus the servant boy walked ahead of Tintin, and after what seemed like an entire mile of hallways and stairs they reached the grand hall. Tintin wondered if his father, or other senators, were invited to celebrations and feasts in these rooms.

There were fewer lamps burning here and the hall was darker. Its warm, stifling air also reeked of what vaguely resembled a mix of roast meat, incense and human sweat. Tintin was instantly repelled.

But he hid it, for Nero came straight walking toward them, greeting them with a wide grin. „Martinus Augustinus! It pleases me to introduce you to my guests!"

These guests, as far as he could discern, were a group of thirty or forty men and women, seated or lying on couches, divans and pillows, and they regarded Tintin with curiosity – except one couple who was, to his shocked surprise, engaged in a sexual act right there in front of the others. There were dancers, too – both male and female, swaying in languid and seductive movements along to the music of a kithara. The musician was Petronius, and he smiled at Tintin.

„Come here, my boy." Nero put a warm, damp hand around Tintin's waist and led him to the sofa where he'd been sitting previously. „Are you hungry?"

Tintin's head was already feeling dizzy. What sort of fumes were these? What was this smoke that some of the people seemed to be inhaling through wooden pipes? „Um... yes", he replied.

Two servant boys who looked too young to be in a place like this brought Tintin a silver cup with wine; and when he tasted it he was surprised how strong it was. Platters of food were set before him and the Emperor who encouraged him to eat.

There were things he knew, such as the filled cabbages and the roast dormice and pheasant; he also recognized artichokes in sauce and celery purée, and a variety of fruit, but also found strange morsels and conoctions he could not name. The servants carried even more food to other guests, setting lavish platters loaded with exotic delicacies all over the hall.

Pulling a silver platter of roast dormice and quails onto his lap Nero leaned back on the sofa. „Eat, boy", he commanded between munching and chewing sounds. Rarely had Tintin seen anyone eat so quickly with so little regard for manners. Would it be an offense if he moved away just a few centimeters?

As if he had read his mind Nero put an arm around Tintin's shoulders and without warning pulled him so close that Tintin caught a whiff of stale sweat and wine. „Eat all you want!" He grinned at Tintin.

„I am no longer hungry, Your Majesty."

Nero seemed not to listen. He clapped his hands twice, a sign for the dancers to disperse.

Now two strange young men stepped in front of the guests, and Tintin stared. They both had very dark skin, curly black hair, and were completely nude save for golden bracelets, earrings and anklets that jingled when they started to dance.

They had a most exquisite physique, slender and muscular at the same time, and their movements looked effortlessly graceful.

„Aren't they beautiful?" Nero ripped a piece of poultry from its bone and chewed noisily while mumbling, „From Ethiopia!"

Tintin nodded. He should not talk too much, lest he inadvertently offend this immature yet powerful man. With some interest he watched the show. Yes, they were beautiful – at least in that, Nero was right.

The slaves' dance ended with a dizzying gymnastical feat, upon which the guests applauded, then the dancers began to kiss.

Nero's hand on Tintin's shoulder wandered down and grasped Tintin's waist. From the corner of his eye Tintin saw Nero watching the show wide-eyed, with a smile on his round face.

The dancers became more daring in front of the guests. Even the obscene theatre plays that Tintin had attended in secret without telling Gaius had not displayed such wantonness – this wasn't comedic acting, it was a real, passionate kiss. The two men held onto each other tightly, hands roaming over each others' smooth earth-colored skin, bodies interlocked in a heated embrace.

Tintin felt his face warm up, and prayed his blush wouldn't be apparent. He'd never been able to _not_ look at such generous displays of male beauty, and felt a little sting in his conscience when he remembered Arcibal.

He held his breath when the two dancers' bodies separated slightly, revealing their hard erections.

Did he mishear it or was Nero next to him breathing more heavily? His clammy hand was firmly locked around Tintin's side. Then he spoke, and Tintin instinctively lowered his gaze.

„Have you done this before, boy?"

Tintin stared at him. What to answer? He decided the truth would be best. „Yes, Your Majesty."

„With a man?"

„Yes."

Nero chuckled as though he had expected nothing else. „Your barbarian slave, right? I'm sure he gives you what you need, as a good slave should."

Embarassed to hear this repulsive fool talk about it so bluntly Tintin kept silent, hoping a faint nod would suffice as a reply. By Jove, could he really bear this man forcing himself upon him? He knew it would probably happen and that he had no choice but to obey – after all, this was the Emperor!

The two Africans were now delivering the high point of their show, grasping and stroking each others' manhoods and kissing.

Tintin watched, compelled. A familiar delectable warmth rushed to his own groin.

Suddenly, an ungentle warm hand – the Emperor's – landed in his lap, squeezing between his legs. Tintin skipped a breath, and his body tensed instantly. _No!_ He looked at Nero but the Emperor was only watching the play, not looking at him at all while fondling him through the tunic.

Had someone told Tintin about such a situation he might have found it comical; but right now he felt only fear and revulsion. That fleshy hand, rubbing and pressing, the smell of alcohol and mixed fumes - it was off-putting. His own hand clasped the sofa's silken cover as he sat there, stiff as a wooden board, breathing shallow breaths. He did not want to get hard, not now. This wasn't right. _Oh, Arcibal!_ If only Arcibal was here. The thought temporarily distracted him.

He noticed Nero loking at him. The Emperor had lifted one eyebrow, regarding him with a doubtful look. „Don't you like it, boy?"

Tintin closed his eyes, exhaling as he wiped his forehead. „I'm not feeling well", he muttered. This was actually quite true. The heavy wine clouded his mind and impaired his judgment.

„Are you?" Nero brought his face closer to Tintin's. His breaths smelled of alcohol and something foul, perhaps a rotten tooth or two. „I see, you're indeed tired. We shall rest." He rose from the sofa, groaning when a joint creaked in his bulky frame, and then again clapped his hands. „Everyone! The banquet is over!"

As the guests all stood up to leave – except for a few lovebirds who could not get enough of each other – Nero grasped Tintin's arm and led him out of the hall. He was waddling barefoot over the marble floor. „Come on, boy. You shall sleep like a Caesar tonight."

.

.

.

Nero's bedchamber was not as big as the dining hall but cozier if any room in the palace could be called so. It possessed a magnificent balcony from where Tintin could see a panoramic view of almost the entire town. There was the Circus Maximus, the grand villa and gardens of General Tigellinus, the Coliseum... Here and there lights flickered in the darkness, competing with hundreds of blinking stars on a clear night sky.

„Rome is a beauty", Nero said. „But also filthy and corrupted. Foreigners are everywhere, meddling with our affairs, and the streets are no longer safe at night." He sighed. Tintin nodded in acknowledgment, remembering the sect of _cristiani _a friend had told him about.

„Sometimes this view bothers me so much", Nero said, his melancholic gaze wandering over the rooftops of haphazardly stacked _insulae_ and other dangerously high constructions. „Sometimes I wish I could just burn it all down and start over."

Tintin turned to stare at him.

„If all this was gone" - Nero waved a hand over the panorama - „I would build a new city to represent Rome's true and ancient glory, and a bigger palace, too." He paused, then chuckled. „What am I talking about! Let's go to bed. Surely you are exhausted."

He led Tintin to a bed that stood on a slightly elevated platform; a beautifully constructed piece of painted wood with gilded bedposts carved to look like lions' heads. He told Tintin to lie down and he obeyed. Although amazed at the softness of the silken sheets he could not help but feel repulsed, knowing the Emperor had slept here, that his body had lain here, his greasy fingers touching the pillow...

„Tintin", Nero began, voice low, as he climbed into the bed with him, „I suppose you know how much you've captivated me with your beauty."

The sudden proximity of the other man, although anticipated, caused Tintin's body to tense. „Your Majesty..." He hesitated. How much would he be allowed to resist? „I fear I cannot do this." Certainly, Nero was cruel, but he was also sentimental and perhaps Tintin should appeal to that side of the imperial mind. „My conscience will not permit it."

Nero was supporting himself on hands and knees, hovering above Tintin. „I understand completely, boy. It's your slave, isn't it?"

Tintin's cheeks heated up once more and he was grateful that it wasn't visible in the room's near darkness. He felt trapped underneath the Emperor, desperately wanted to wriggle out, quick as a lizard. If only!

„You love that barbarian. But consider! What can he offer you? He has nothing, not even freedom. But with me, on the other hand, you will never have a worry in life. I don't want just a night with you, Tintin. You deserve more than that, you are not an ordinary catamite."

Tintin looked at him with furrowed brows and crinkled nose, unable to fully hide his feelings. Was Nero talking about taking him as a sort of... _concubine? _

„You slave will recognize it, too." Nero's expression was serious. „When he sees that you're mine he will understand. Precisely for that reason I've sent for him. He will be here in an hour or so."

„_What?!_" For a second Tintin had forgotten his composure. _Arcibal, here? _Previously he had wished to be near him, but right now the thought of Arcibal in this very room filled him with dread. His beloved wasn't supposed to see Tintin like this, here in the Emperor's bed. Arcibal would be disgusted to see how Nero had marked Tintin and made him his.

How humiliating that would be! No, Arcibal must not see that! „Your Majesty... please reconsider. You are compromising me."

„So what? Your slave knows you're here."

„But I don't want to be seen-"

Nero cut off Tintin's objection with a rough kiss. His tongue pushed Tintin's lips apart, invaded his mouth; and he felt stubble and tasted wine.

_No, no, no-!_

He put his palms agains the Emperor's chest, knowing he shouldn't actually fight but fear and revulsion compelled him. Nero seemed not to mind – he was heavy and didn't budge, and kissed Tintin with slow, gentle licks.

Finally he stopped, regarding Tintin's appalled face with an expression of breathless wonder. „I understand why you must resist. I can't blame you - you're a virtuous lad. Of course the son of the Remii could not surrender so easily." He caressed Tintin's cheek with a warm, fleshy hand. „I knew you'd put up a fight. The rules of decency command it from you. But I'm prepared for anything. I'll conquer you eventually, no matter what."

_By Jove!_ Nero thought Tintin was resisting just for show?

With some effort Nero rose on his knees, shuffling backward onto the bed to have easier access to Tintin's legs. He pushed them apart – Tintin reluctantly obeyed – and positioned himself between them. „Give yourself to me now, my love. It's all right."

Tintin closed his eyes. It was of no use. To disobey the Emperor constituted high treason, and there was a chance Nero might interpret Tintin's objections as such. With shaky hands, he loosened the belt of his tunic, then found the lower edge of the fabric and pulled it all the way up to his neck

He was fully exposed to Nero from the clavicle down, feeling small and vulnerable.

He did not look at Nero but knew he was being looked at, knew that Nero drank in the sight like a thirsty wanderer having found water. „How beautiful you are", he whispered, voice low and raspy. Tintin heard him inhale, then sweaty hands pawed his stomach, genitals and thighs. „What wonderful skin... so smooth, a girl would be jealous... Open your legs more."

Tintin obeyed. _I am a good Roman citizen, this will be over quickly._ Still keeping his eyes shut he turned his head to the side, covering his face with an arm like a tired traveller after a long journey. _But he cannot force me to enjoy it!_

He heard rustling of clothes, and puffing breaths, signs that Nero was undressing and getting ready; then the same damp hands touched the insides of his thighs, and the bed creaked where Nero knees dipped into the mattress.

Any moment now this tyrant would defile him, and for a moment Tintin wondered what he'd done to deserve this. He remembered the stranger in the bathhouse. _I've been cruel, raising a man's hopes like that only to reject him._ Perhaps this was Venus' way of punishing him.

He kept his eyes closed, waiting. Nero was kneeling between Tintin's legs, keeping them open, and he was breathing heavily. There were low, smacking sounds and the Emperor's body seemed to be lightly shaking.

What was going on?

Risking a look he saw that Nero was masturbating himself, his determined face visible even in the relative darkness. „Damn", the Emperor mumbled under his breath, „damn it!"

Only when his gaze met Tintin's did the boy notice that he'd been staring.

Nero continued stroking himself, to no avail.

_What? He can't get it up?_ Immediately Tintin felt relief, but it was a short-lived thought - Nero would be angry, so much was certain, and that was not good.

The Emperor muttered a vulgar curse involving Hades' testicles, then gave up, panting. The imperial member that should be spawning male successors to the throne was limp as a wilted plant, and Tintin made the mistake of looking at it for one second too long.

Nero slapped him across the face.

„Ow!" Tintin gasped, and held a hand to his burning cheek.

„What kind of black magic is this, boy? Are you one of them?_ Are you one of them?_"

„What?!" Tintin cried out.

„Do the _cristiani _teach you black magic?! Answer me!"

„No!" Tintin shouted, horrified.

„Turn around!"

Hastily Tintin did as commanded.

„On your knees! Face down!"

This pose offered him at least the comfort of burying his face in the sheets. It was degrading pose, more so than before, but the tears that ran out of Tintin's eye corners weren't tears of humiliation but fright. What if Nero still couldn't do it, and accused him of some obscure crime?

Again he heard the wet, slapping sounds accompanied by labored breathing; felt the bed tremble. One of Nero's hands touched his thighs and bottom, fondling and squeezing him. He even pushed one spit-slickened finger inside Tintin, causing him to gasp and wince.

And that was all. It was over. Nero ordered Tintin to move to the side of the bed.

Tintin watched as the Emperor lay down, back turned to Tintin, and pulled the blanket over himself. The entire room was quiet; only faintly could he hear voices outside.

What to do now? Tintin was at a total loss. Partly relieved, partly scared he lay down next to Nero who was asleep – or pretended to. For several minutes no one moved. Tintin rearranged his tunic to cover his nakedness.

If Nero wanted to sleep now he should do the same. There was no way he could simply escape from here – even if he managed to get out he would have to be insane to walk home at night. And there was a chance the Emperor's anger would have dissipated by tomorrow morning.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, maybe an hour or an half, until he heard the ruckus outside the bedroom door.

„Tintin", someone shouted.

Suddenly awake he sat up on the bed. Only one man had that deep, powerful voice with the Northern accent.

Nero had not lied to him. Arcibal was here!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

After Tintin had heard his name there was silence. Nero next to him barely moved. Very slowly as not to disturb the Emperor Tintin sat up on the bed.

_Arcibal is out there!_

Should he just try and walk out?  
Another voice from outside shouted, "Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

Nero stirred. He rolled onto his back then rose to sit upright, rubbing his eyes. He looked blankly at Tintin then at himself, apparently realizing he was still naked. Muttering something unintelligible he climbed out of the bed, taking the silken sheet with him which he wrapped around his body to resemble a makeshift toga. "Come in!"

With a creak the door opened, and an armed guard entered the bedroom. "Here is the man you requested to see, Your Majesty." He was followed by Arcibal and yet another armed guard. They looked at the strange visitor with distrust, ready to draw their swords in the blink of an eye.

"Arcibal!" Tintin knelt upright in the bed, looking at him wide-eyed.

The slave jumped toward Tintin but the two guards grabbed him by the arms, holding him back and causing furious protest. "Let go of me, you perforatores! Stultissimi! Praedes! Sicarii! Cacatores!"

"Quiet!" Nero bellowed, apparently trying to stand as straight and composed as drunkenness and fatigue would allow someone wearing only a bedsheet. "Quiet! And let him go!"  
Reluctantly the guards unlocked their grip from Arcibal. Tintin jumped up from the bed to run toward his lover.

He threw himself at his slave as fiercely as Arcibal enclosed him in his arms, and his fears about repelling his lover by having been in Nero's bed were quickly nipped in the bud. Arcibal was here and holding him in his arms and that was all that counted.  
From a far distance he heard Nero order the guards to leave the room, then the door closed with another quiet creak.

Never had the solace of being so close to Arcibal been so welcome as in this moment. He leaned his head against the man's chest, hugging his arms around his broad torso.  
Yet he stayed aware that they were not alone; and soon unlocked himself from the embrace to look at Emperor Nero.

Nero was smiling at them. "Look at you two. This is true love - it transcends the borders of gender and social status."

Tintin and Arcibal looked at him with raised eyebrows, trying to detect sarcasm or irony but found no traces of either. This further confused Tintin. What did Nero have in mind for them now? He felt his slave's hands tighten around his waist as if Arcibal was restraining himself from attacking the Emperor.

Nero sighed, turning his back to them. "This is what I write about in my poems. Unfortunately few people understand them, and they merely applaud to please me. But Rome has forgotten what true love is."

He paused, and Tintin decided it might be worth a try. "Your Majesty, please."

Nero turned around, looking at them. "Yes?"

"Would you permit us to leave?"

Before Tintin could stop him Arcibal raised a fist and shook it at the Emperor. "You better let us go, you swine! Or haven't you had enough and want to violate him again?"

"No, don't!" Tintin pressed his hand onto Arcibal's mouth. Then he turned to Nero. "Please, don't punish my slave! He is rash and thoughtless but only so because of his concern for me!" He quickly knelt down to emphasize his point. "Please, don't punish him and let us both leave!"

Nero grinned. "You may get up, Tintin. Of course. I understand." He looked at Arcibal. "You better listen to your boy, or I might have to punish him instead of you. And you don't want that, do you?"

"What!?" Arcibal's hands wandered to Tintin's shoulders, squeezing him. His entire body seemed tense.

"That's right. Now, listen!" Nero commanded. Holding the blanket around him like a toga he had a strangely dignified air about him. "Listen. I did not sleep with your pretty Tintin."  
He paused. Tintin clasped his own hand around Arcibal's, signaling him to stay quiet.

"In fact-" - Nero's tone was earnest - "your beloved Tintin is such a virtuous and decent young man that he managed to convince me that he could permit only you and no one else to share his bed." He cleared his throat. "I realized he would never be truly mine so I knew it would be wrong to have hin, and left him untouched. ... What is your name, slave?"

It took Arcibal a while to process the words and he almost did not notice the question. "Erm... Arcibal Hadoc... Your Majesty." He looked at Tintin's face. "Is it true?"

Tintin nodded. "Yes, it's true." He vowed in silence to tell him everything as soon as they were out of this cursed palace.

Arcibal's voice was surprisingly calm. "Your Majesty, may we leave?"

"No."

Both looked at Nero, hardly daring to breathe as they anticipated the Emperor's next whim. This was a disturbed young man who could have them both killed.

The Emperor began to pace around in front of them. "I haven't known love growing up. My mother pretended to love me but all she was interested in was power and control, and she commanded me as she did command my father Claudius..." He paused, giving them a long contemplating look. "Yes, I could tell it right away. When you shoved me into the pool to defend your pretty red-headed lad, risking so much as a mere slave - I knew you love him!"

Tintin heard Arcibal swallow, and felt himself grow more anxious.

"I might not experience true love even as Emperor, but I want to see it nevertheless. Show me how much you love each other."

"Excuse me?" Tintin asked. Nothing that Nero had said had remotely sounded like permission to go home.

"What?!" Arcibal interjected. "You want us to... fuck in front of you?"

"That's a vulgar way to put it." Nero looked at him, nose crinkled with contempt. "But, essentially, yes. Show me how much you love each other. Now."

Tintin realized he had to distract his slave. He put a hand on the back of Arcibal's head, pulling him into a kiss. Arcibal, though surprised at first, soon was kissing him back, hard and hungry as though he hadn't seen him in months.

"You heard what His Majesty said." Tintin led him toward the bed. "Let's do it. Arcibal, please." He whispered, "This is the easy way out."  
He glanced at Nero. The Emperor was placing a wooden chair with armrests next to the bed and sat down, ready to enjoy the show. He grinned at them both.

Arcibal sighed but offered no resistance, then he kissed Tintin again - this time with tender attention as if just getting to know him, as if he wasn't entirely sure yet what was expected of him. Tintin caressed his head and neck, trying to signal him that everything was fine, and closed his eyes to focus on the sensation. To feel Arcibal's beard against his skin, his hands on Tintin's waist almost made him forget where they were.

Arcibal let his lips trail down to Tintin's jaw and neck, placing little kisses on the sensitive skin, then focused his attention on Tintin's earlobes, pausing a moment to whisper, "All right, then. We shall show him what he will never have."

These words, combined with Arcibal's moist tongue teasing small but oh so sensitive areas of his skin, chased light shivers of arousal down Tintin's body. "Yes!"

Taking initiative he loosened the other man's belt and reached under his tunic, feeling strong thighs covered in wiry black hair, magnificent legs that could support Tintin easily if he sat on Arcibal's lap.  
Yes, that's how he should do it! If he sat atop the elder man, riding him, he'd retain some control in this impossible situation. That was what he needed right now. "Arcibal", he muttered, heaving a sigh as the other licked his neck and fondled his bottom, "sit back."

First he seemed hesitant but he did as Tintin asked; and Tintin knelt between Arcibal's legs, pulling up his tunic to reveal his manhood, already hot and hard.

"Tintin", Arcibal protested half-heartedly, reaching out to caress Tintin's hair, "you don't have to- ohh!"

Tintin took him up in his mouth, going about the task with the eagerness of the newly initiated who had just discovered how much pleasure he could give someone that way. He now knew the effect of his warm, wet mouth on another's cock, and it sent blood rushing to his own erection.  
Taking it in as deep as he could manage to let it pop out again with an obscene sound, he alternated the ways of savoring his lover's taste.

"Tin...tin", Arcibal panted, his fingers tensing in Tintin's hair, "don't... make me come yet."

Tintin moaned softly, wondering if sounds on his tongue would vibrate against the tip of Arcibal's cock. He licked it, catching a bead of pre-cum.

"Stop", Nero interrupted him. "Don't let him come yet!"

Although he tried to ignore the words Tintin could not suppress a frustrated sigh. He'd done his best to forget that Nero was here. If only he would shut up!

He stopped licking Arcibal's cock, and straddled his lover, leaning foward to kiss him. Arcibal seemed eager to taste himself inside Tintin's mouth, and to touch him. He slid his hands up Tintin's tunic, cupping his bottom and sliding a finger between his buttocks.

Tintin gasped and let out a brief giggle when he felt that broad finger tickle his most intimate area, but Arcibal muffled Tintin's sounds with forceful kisses.

Arcibal was teasing him, touching and caressing but going no further, and Tintin could not take it much longer. He pulled away from the kiss. „Let me, please." He thought he'd expressed his desires clearly but speaking and thinking were hard when all energy had left his brain, instead heating his lower regions.

And yet he couldn't help but glance at the Emperor again and again. Nero's gaze was firmly locked on them, and he hid one hand beneath his silken bedsheet, where its suspicious movements betrayed how much he enjoyed his show.

What a debauched thing to do, to perform for the pleasure of a viewer!

But instead of putting a damper of Tintin's increasing arousal it had the opposite effect. It meant that all decency was abolished. They could not possibly sink any further on the moral scale. It both angered and incited him.

He spit on his own fingers and reached down to prepare himself with a minimum of wetness, looking at his lover and breathing heavily. His own erection stood stiff, leaking clear fluid over his own and Arcibal's belly, and he enjoyed the sight of the elder man being completely captivated by him.

„Don't hold back", he told his slave. „We're as depraved as it gets."

He sank down onto Arcibal's cock, whimpering when its tip slid inside, opening him up. „Oh, yes."

Arcibal reached out to grasp Tintin's erection, and Tintin thrust into the other man's hand as he simultaneously started to move, allowing Arcibal to enter him fully.

Arcibal bucked his hips up with an appreciative groan, pressing himself balls-deep inside Tintin.

„Yes", Tintin gasped, „yes, like that-"

It burned and ached but a different sort of burn sent waves of pleasure rippling through his fibers. Riding Arcibal, slow and steady, he now felt pre-cum enhance the friction and easing his movements. His ass was facing the Emperor and Tintin wondered what it looked like, the view of his round buttocks sliding up and down Arcibal's tall, glistening wet shaft, and he threw a mischievous look at Nero over his shoulder, wiggling his butt for good measure.

„Mmm, it feels so good", he moaned, looking back at Arcibal, and as his muscles relaxed he increased his speed, bouncing up and down his lover.

Arcibal pulled him forward into another kiss, and thus half atop him Tintin had no more freedom of movement – instead, Arcibal began thrusting inside him, at the same time plunging his tongue into Tintin's mouth.

Nero saw everything, and Tintin did not care. All shame and propriety had been taken from him so what did he have to lose now? Why bother? He moaned against Arcibal's lips, thoroughly losing himself in the sensation of this silky smooth, magnificent hardness lodged inside him. He was fucking his lover into soaring, heady heights of passion, building up the sexual tension until they both would reach the point of no return.

„Turn around, lad", Arcibal demanded, desire practically dripping from his voice. „I'll... take care of you. I'll fill you up."

Tintin hardly noticed that Arcibal had said something until the slave turned over, throwing Tintin down onto the bed with him, and manhandled him to lie on his belly.

„Hips up", he commanded, and Tintin obeyed, moving onto his knees so his ass was facing Arcibal.

„More", he whined, pulling his buttocks apart with both hands. The bedsheet was damp and warm against his face.

Arcibal re-entered Tintin from behind. He was taking the lead again, and it made Tintin shudder with delight. He cried out and moaned, high-pitched and almost desperate, feeling Arcibal's finger bruise his hips with each thrust.

To top it all he was now looking directly at the Emperor, his sweat-damp flushed face, glossy eyes and swollen, parted lips right in front of Nero.

_All decency abolished._

„Fuck me", he moaned, moving his bottom against Arcibal's cock, „give it to me, fuck me!" Nothing held him back any more, no conscious decision chose his words. He let the sensations spill out of him, raw and uncensored. „Fuck me, harder! … ohh, it feels _so_ good!"

Arcibal grabbed his quiff, growling something similarly filthy about how he wanted to stuff that snug little hole all night long; and Tintin screamed when the elder man thrust into him with more force, causing Tintin's knees and hand to burn from skidding over the bed.

His throat was parched but he continued whimpering and shouting. Arcibal pounded into him with a fast, rhythmic staccato.

Tintin knew and anticipated the moment Arcibal would empty his load deep inside him. Only moments later he sensed it, and squeezed tightly around his lover's cock as it pulsated inside him.

Arcibal leaned over him, panting heavily, and Tintin used these seconds where he felt his lover's essence drizzle out of him to stroke himself to finish his own climax.

.

.

.

To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

When Tintin and Arcibal had awoken in Nero's bed their first instinct had been to panic; but to their great relief the Emperor, who had been spending the night in another of his many luxurious bed-chambers, had allowed them to leave.

He had given Tintin a silk scarf and a solid gold ring as a sign of his „everlasting love", and had promised that he would make Tintin remember him, and it had sounded more like a threat than a polite phrase. But Tintin did not dwell on this; he was happy to be home.

He had decided not to tell his father about Nero's failure in bed. Such knowledge could be dangerous for a senator. Instead he had merely told him that Nero had not slept with him, keeping the details to himself. Only Arcibal was allowed to hear the entire story.

The following month Nero sent him two letters, each accompanied by presents, in which he'd put into flowery words his fond memories of Tintin; and made various comparisons of Tintin's looks to beautiful things in nature, going as far as calling him „the jewel of the Empire". Gaius did not allow Tintin to keep the letters, but it was clear that he remained torn between pride and opportunism: on the one hand his son was a favorite of the most powerful man of Rome; on the other hand no man from the house of the Remii could be another's concubine, least of all Tintin. Although Gaius did not say the word, Tintin knew what his father thought of a „whore".

He certainly wasn't one for giving himself to Arcibal, so much was certain. They loved each other, and their affection was unconditional. But his father would not see it any other way and if he knew about their relationship he might consider it worse than anything Nero might want from him.

So Tintin and Arcibal kept their passion a secret; confining their lovemaking to Tintin's preferred hidden places about town. Once they had even done it in the empty massage room of a bathhouse. Arcibal had taken initiative, having sensed Tintin's impatience and stress; and he'd told him to lie down on the marble counter, then he had eased Tintin's frustration in a slow, gentle massage from the inside.

In early July Nero sent Tintin a work of art – a very naturalistic painting on a wooden panel, showing Iuppiter and Ganymede in the act of making love. For the first time in his life Tintin had seen his father blush with embarassment. Gaius had banished the painting to the kitchen storeroom where it faced a career of collecting dust among jars, pots, pans and roaches.

„That Nero is never going to learn it, is he?" Arcibal had been upset when he'd learnt of yet another gift from the Emperor, but Tintin had embraced him, promising that nothing Nero could do would change his mind about him. „I love you, and no matter what Nero does he can't win me."

Tintin knew that someone like Nero had all the power to take whatever he pleased but the fact that Gaius was a senator most likely would keep him from abducting and marrying Tintin. Every emperor relied on the senate's cooperation and could not risk offending them and possibly losing their loyalty. He would not jeopardize the senate's support through a scandal.

And Gaius had still not allowed Arcibal to become a free man.

Feeling rebellious Tintin had decided to sleep with Arcibal right here in his father's house. It had been hard enough sleeping in the same bedroom as his slave for months without giving in to the desires they both had, and both knew the other also had. It was enough! When would he finally be free from his father's reins?

Arcibal, too, had changed his mind about making love to Tintin in the very villa of the Remii – his desire for Tintin inevitably triumphed his fear of punishment in case of discovery. They had to be quiet, of course, and extremely careful.

It was a sweltering July summer night fourteen days before the Kalendes of August, and despite the villa's thick stone walls and small windows scorching heat penetrated the chambers. Tintin and Arcibal were exhausted but that did not stop them from expressing their passion for one another.

Arcibal lay atop Tintin, gazing into his lover's eyes and moving slow and steady between Tintin's opened thighs, claiming him over and over again.

Tintin let himself go, focusing fully on the sensation. The stimulation was gentle and not focused on that mysterious amazing spot inside his body, allowing him to stay quiet more easily.

He savoured everything of this – the regular breaths of them both, warm and damp, Arcibal's eyes glinting in the near darkness, Arcibal's skin being hot to his touch. Above all, he was grateful he was no longer being molested by the Emperor and prayed it would stay that way.

He pressed his lips tightly together, trying to remain silent. Anything louder than a whisper might betray them. Arcibal took it slow, occasionally breathing an appreciative sigh into Tintin's ear.

Tintin closed his eyes, hugging his lover tighter and pressed his mouth to his muscular shoulder. It helped muffle the whimpers he was holding back. Arcibal slid in and out of him with ease; his movements facilitated by generous lubrication from olive oil, and his hairy robust thighs kept pressing against Tintin's smooth ones.

„More", Tintin whispered.

Arcibal increased his speed just the slightest bit. Tintin breathed aloud, gasping. „Faster..."

„My love... they'll hear us-"

Tintin shook his head. „I'm gonna do this." He pressed his lips against Arcibal's shoulder. In the area between his neck and biceps his skin was actually smooth and Tintin could feel the heat more acutely.

Looking not entirely convinced but unable to resist him Arcibal did as Tintin asked. He thrust forward and back, moving faster but still steadily, and Tintin buried his face in Arcibal's shoulder, gritting his teeth. He felt the muscles and shoulder blades in the man's back, strong and able under his palms. Arcibal was over him like a broad shield, ever protective no matter how often and how he claimed him. Indeed, although he was still a slave he had abandoned all concerns about his own status and even life since their first time together. He no longer called him _domine_ when they were alone, instead using Tintin's first name, or 'my love' and _amor. _They were equals.

„I want...", he panted.

Arcibal's response was a sigh as he lost himself more and more in Tintin's narrow warmth.

„Come on my stomach." Tintin wanted to see it all; wanted to see his lover's face as he spilled his seed. The sight of Arcibal reaching orgasm always brought him close to the edge himself.

Arcibal thrust into him with more vigor, breathing audibly. Not much later, in one quick movement he pulled out his erection and aimed it at Tintin's belly.

Tintin propped himself up on his elbows on order not to miss anything.

The first two shots of silky white cum landed near Tintin's rib cage, and a third load oozed onto the sweat-damp skin just below his navel, missing his own cock by a finger's width.

It was a glorious sight to behold. Tintin grasped his erection, smiling at his lover with breathless bliss, as he worked himself to his own apex.

To see Arcibal watching him doing this added to Tintin's arousal, and when he finished, his own seed mingled with that of his lover. Covered in sticky goodness he remained on the bed, now truly exhausted, and closed his eyes while Arcibal cuddled up on his side.

.

.

.

An hour or so had passed when Arcibal rose from the bed. Tintin, half asleep, realized that the room was was not quite as dark as before, and although it was night the heat was now even harder to bear.

He sat up and turned to see Arcibal looking out the small window. Its view was obstructed by the garden and high wall around it, nevertheless Arcibal was looking intently.

„Tintin, you should see that."

Tired, Tintin stood next to him, craning his neck to look out of the high window.

Far back behind the wall and the few visible rooftops behind it the black night sky was illuminated by a fiery red light.

„Suppose we should wake my father?" Tintin thought aloud.

„Listen, do you hear it?"

They looked at each other in silence, and Tintin noticed the voices from outside. Other people were awake and outside. „Yes, I hear it." But he reconsidered. „It's just another of these summer fires. They crop up regularly."

„You sure?"

„It's all right. Let's go back to bed."

.

.

.

Tintin and Arcibal were asleep in each other's arms when Blanca Castafloris fiercely shook them awake."Quick, get up, both of you! Your father's orders!"

„What's going on?" Arcibal rubbed his tired eyes.

„There's a fire spreading. We should get away, just to be safe."

„What?" Tintin's eyes opened wide. The bedsheet was damp with his sweat, and hot air permeated the bedroom. He realized.

The fire was close, closer than any other summer fire had been previously.

This time it was in their street.

.

.

.

When Tintin stepped outside the house he noticed, amazed, how many people were crowding the street. The bright red light above the rooftops had increased in size, and when he looked down the road he saw the flames. Tall fiery tongues devoured the wooden skeletons of several _insulae_, spraying fountains of sparks high into the black night sky.

Mesmerized, he did not realize he'd been staring until Gaius spoke to him. „Help me get the valuables out of the house, Tintin."

Tintin postponed the questions he meant to ask. His father looked desperate, and there was no time to question anything now. A big fire was approaching and if it would not reach the villa it was certain that pillagers would.

Nestoros came running toward them. „I apologize, _domine!_" He was short of breath. „No more horse carts. All sold out or rented! I couldn't find any!"

Blanca did not hide her upset. „By Jove, what are we going to do? How will we get away now?"

„We'll have to carry whatever we can", Gaius said. „Nestoros, you put all glass and silverware in a bag, and my books too. Blanca, get my clothes and the portrait painting-"

People rushed past them, carrying things. Tintin noticed that even the Plebeians had a lot of possessions with them; many used a horse or donkey cart. Noise from numerous wooden wheels racketing over cobblestone mingled with the rustling of flames. There were panicked shouts, calls, and chatter, many in other languages than Latin.

„We will stop at the villa of Senator Curcubitus." Gaius wiped his forehead. „He owes me a favor – perhaps he can assist us. Arcibal, come with me, I need your help." He waved Arcibal inside the villa and Tintin followed them.

As he had suspected Gaius wanted Arcibal to help him carry the money box. It was a wooden chest the size of an infant's cradle, surprisingly heavy for its size. On the front it was locked.

„Help me carry it", Gaius commanded.

Arcibal stood there, merely looking at him.

„Arcibal Hadoc!" Once more Tintin's father wiped his face. The heat of the fire that seemed to devour the entire district was becoming unbearable. „Are you deaf?"

To Tintin's surprise Arcibal responded, „No, _domine_, but I am Tintin's slave."

Gaius stared at him, clearly at a loss for words.

„But if I were a free man I would gladly help you."

„What?!" Gaius shouted, incredulous.

Tintin was quick to plead, „Father, listen to me, please, let me make Arcibal free. Set him free. We will be grateful forever."

„This... I don't-" Gaius stammered, hastily looking forth and back between them and his money chest. He pulled the heavy box with both hands. It barely budged.

„Please", Tintin said.

„Gaius, _domine?_" Nestoros shouted through the _vestibulum._ „We must hurry! The fire is approaching!"

Arcibal grabbed the money chest with both hands and lifted it with a grunt. Tintin couldn't help but stare at his lover's bulging arm muscles, amazed how strong he was. „_Domine_, if you set me free I will carry this wherever you want and defend it with my life."

„Oh, _damnatio!_" Exasperated, Gaius threw his hands up in the air. „By Jove, so be it!"

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.

.

Four hours later they had arrived at the country villa of Gaius' sister Flaminia about five miles from Ostia. On their way they had bought an exorbitantly priced handcart that Tintin and Arcibal took turns pulling and pushing. No one had attacked them on their journey; it seemed that the robbers and looters had turned their attention to the burning city, however dangerous it might be.

Tintin already knew the _latifundium _of his aunt and her husband and it was more than a mere farm. The estate spanned several hundred hectar and employed dozens of slaves; and the owners welcomed them in their villa. Tintin showed Arcibal around the place, hoping to steal a few more kisses in a secluded corner among the apple and plum trees, endlessly happy that Gaius had agreed to set Arcibal free. He wanted to celebrate with his lover, and his joy over Arcibal's new status surpassed his fear of the great fire.

For he knew that his father was someone who kept his word.

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.

Two days later, twelve days before the Kalendes of August, Gaius finally brought up the topic. They sat in the garden and while a slave brought them wine Gaius expressed his gratitude to the gods to have let him leave the burning city unscathed; then he took a handful of _aurei_ from his purse and gave them to Tintin. „This should suffice to set him free."

Tintin and Arcibal looked at each other first, then at Gaius, and found themselves unable to suppress a wide smile.

„Thank you so much, Father", Tintin said, fighting the urge to throw his arms around the elderly senator who as far as he remembered had never approved of effeminate displays of fondness. And even more now he felt compelled to kiss Arcibal.

_Not now, not here, Tintin!_

„_Gratis ago, domine."_ Arcibal, too, was thankful. „I mean... Senator Gaius. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and ten thousand thundering carriages of Mars shall run over me if I ever forget it." He looked at Tintin who noticed the ever so slight twitch in Arcibal's arm, the way the man's body was turned toward him, the intense stare.

No, they couldn't kiss here, not now.

„And, by the way, son" - Gaius raised a finger, „you no longer should keep it a secret from me."

Tintin was completely caught off guard. „What?" He found it hard to read his father's expression, for Gaius seemed as serious as usual.

„I know of the... special love between you two." Judging from his hesitant voice it was hard for Gaius to say those words. „When I found out I consulted the oracle, and the gods say that your union is blessed."

Flabbergasted, Tintin opened his mouth to speak but found no words.

„Does Arcibal make you happy?"

„Yes", Tintin gasped, nodding fiercely, „yes!"

„I can see what you want to do. Go ahead. Kiss him."

.

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the end

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Epilogue

Four Years Later

A.D. 68

Much had changed after the great fire had ravaged Rome.

Immediately after the cleanup the Emperor had a new palace constructed on the slopes of three hills; the grandest accommodation in all of Rome up to this point; and it was now close to being finished. Called the _Domus Aurea_ – Golden House – it resembled a wide landscaped estate complex rather than a palace building; and its concrete and brick walls were finished with dazzling white marble and gold decorations.

And the people hated it. Such extravagance was an outrage especially when indulged by a narcissistic youth who deemed himself an artist instead of devoting his time to wisely reign the world's greatest empire; and had already thrown plenty of taxpayers' _denarii _out of the window. The fact that he had condemned several _cristiani_ to death for having started the great fire hadn't helped his reputation at all – in fact, rumour had it that it had been Nero himself who'd set the fire. Wasn't a madman who had killed his mother and siblings capable of anything?

It was only a matter of time until the inevitable occurred. In spring of 68 the Emperor's own governors rebelled against his tax policies and then against himself, having declared the Lusitanian governor Galba as emperor.

In June of 68, Nero awoke one day to find himself alone in an empty palace. He had failed to fully recognize that he no longer had the support of the many people whose loyalty he had taken for granted.

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus committed suicide five days before the Ides of June.

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Arcibal Hadoc, now a free man, had found work as a private tutor for the children of noble families, teaching them the Greek language. Tintin had convinced his father to let Arcibal stay at their home, and Gaius had even granted him his own bedroom.

At age twenty-three, Tintin was now sure that military training and service wasn't for him, that he would dedicate his time to becoming a _notarius, _preferably as a permanent official attached to the Senate. Although he sometimes longed to travel and see the world and write about faraway lands, one had to work to earn a living.

But nothing compared to freely give and receive love, and Tintin and Arcibal continued visiting the bathhouses and each others' beds, sometimes even flaunting their relationship in public when they felt brave.

He never regretted having made Arcibal a free man.


End file.
